


Broken Symmetry

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: F/M, Other characters not named due to spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:57:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 67
Words: 136,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julia, Barnabas and Elliot return from 1840 and find Collinsport has changed -- much more than expected. Picks up where the show ends for the real-time characters, everyone leaving to hear Roger's speech at the Historical Center. Surprises await there...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is NR because there are a couple explicit adult chapters, but the majority of the story is probably Teen & Up. I'd rather use Explicit for fic that exists primarily as smut. I will mark the explicit chapters for any sensitive readers -- there are details in them that give you more information about the characters, but you don't really lose anything crucial if you choose to skip them.
> 
> This story is finished, but it may take me a few days to put it all up. Trust me, if you find yourself enjoying this and waiting for the next set of chapters, you didn't wait nearly as long as my first group of readers!
> 
> Speaking of which, a special thank you to all the gals at JList for all of your support and encouragement while I was writing this. There were some dark days of writer's block when I just wanted to give it up -- I'm really not sure I would have finished without you guys!
> 
> And another special thank you to my Tumblr friends, who endured mostly inanity from me while I was pouring all of my good words (relatively speaking) into this.

"I feel terribly underdressed next to Elizabeth," Julia said to Barnabas as they walked to the door.

"We're already late,” he said, pausing by the stairs. “A few minutes more won't make any difference if you want to change.”

"Oh no, I was too relieved to get out of one uncomfortable dress. I wouldn't get into another tonight for anything!" She laughed, then suddenly stopped short, as if realizing something for the first time, resting one hand on her chin thoughtfully. "That's the one strange thing I've noticed since being back – Elizabeth talks as if we've been here all along, but my room looks like it's hardly been lived in. There were only a couple dresses in my closet."

"That is odd. Well, perhaps you've been splitting your time between here and Wyndcliffe."

Julia considered the idea. "I guess that's what I would have done, if it's true there's no longer any danger, no other reason to stay here."

Barnabas shifted uncomfortably for a moment, unsure what to say. She smiled at him gently, then broke the moment, going for her coat. He followed, head down, a step behind. 

She pulled the last coat down from its hook, turning it over and inspecting the label. "And this isn't my coat at all – but it must be, it's my size."

"Your style, too," he reflected, helping her on with it.

She raised an eyebrow, amused that he would notice or think such a thing. "Yes, I like it."

He shrugged. "I suppose you've gone shopping, too."

She shrugged it off, too, as she pulled the collar up around her neck. It was amusing, really, reacclimating to one's own life. "Well, if time's moved on without us I'm sure we're in for a few surprises, but if this is the extent of it, I think we'll manage!"

They laughed and left, arm in arm.

––––––––––––––––––

 

Julia laughed again as she eased her car out of the driveway. "Put a lot of miles on while we were gone, too."

"All that driving back and forth from Wyndcliffe," Barnabas said flatly, as if it were fact.

She swatted at the air, dismissing the thought. "How boring! Maybe it was a lot of cozy drives in the country, looking at the Christmas lights. We used to do that, when I was a child. Cozy, isn't that the word Elizabeth used?"

"You're in an awfully good mood tonight," he noted distantly, now staring out the window.

"Time travel makes me giddy." She flashed him a sidelong smile, but found him staring gloomily away from her, knotting his hands in his lap. She amended, not entirely hiding her exasperation, "Just trying to keep things light."

Long moments passed in silence, not altogether a comfortable one, before Barnabas shook himself out of it. "I'm sorry. I'm terrible company."

"Don't be. It's been a long day. Very long." She offered him a weak smile, which he returned this time, with some effort.

"Julia…" He continued to wring his hands, taking his time to come to the point. "I'm also sorry about what I said earlier. About Angelique."

She went suddenly rigid: it required all her effort to keep her voice even, and she managed only one syllable: "Why?"

"Because you didn't need to hear it. It was unkind. I know how you feel about Angelique. And I know how you feel about–" He stopped himself, his eyebrows knitted in sorrow.

Julia struggled to stop herself from saying aloud any of the thoughts that leapt to mind, few gracious or constructive. 

"I thought I knew how _I_ felt." He laughed bitterly. "I always want to run to you, whenever things go wrong. Almost by instinct. I need you too much, I think. Anyway, I'm sorry."

Her face was a tumult of emotions he still could not bear to confront. Every word she thought to give voice to had its say in her eyes which winced, then glowered, then blinked as if to ward off the tears she never would have allowed anyhow. But the words behind them would not come; failing all that, she let out a sigh of acceptance. It was the first and only expression he looked up to see. 

"That's the last thing I want you to be sorry about," she said simply. It was the truth, but far from the whole truth.

"Yes – it is probably last on a long list." He exhaled deeply, as if trying to rid his lungs of air completely and breathe in again something pure. "You're right. It _has_ been a long day."

"And Roger's speech isn't going to help matters any," she added lightly.

"No, it isn't." The words came out amiably enough, but Barnabas slipped back into his detached silence immediately they were said. 

Julia let him be. She kept her face a mask of indifference. 

Before long they arrived. Barnabas maintained his silence as he got out and stood by the car door, his back to her. She approached him uncertainly, but was relieved to see the darkness had dropped from his face. He seemed merely to be enjoying the night air now.

He offered her his arm again as they walked to the door and said, "It will be nice to see everyone. It's good to be home."

She smiled to herself and said only, "Yes. It is."


	2. Chapter 2

Barnabas and Julia entered the lecture hall as quietly as possible, and found two seats at the back of the room. Roger had already begun droning on at the lectern about Collinsport's – and especially the Collinses' – contributions to the Revolutionary War. Julia looked up at Barnabas occasionally when she thought Roger had said something accidentally funny or historically inaccurate, because there was another history only they knew. But each time she found Barnabas lost in thought again, staring out into the audience. Finally she gave up on him again and, reluctantly, turned her whole attention to Roger's speech.

"And so…" Roger cleared his throat, losing his place. "Ah, yes. And so when news of the British soldiers' demand that the citizens sign the petition reached Collinsport, Jasper Collins organized a plot to ambush and capture the captain…"

Suddenly Barnabas grasped her elbow and squeezed, hard. "What?" she hissed, pulling away from him.

He was straining to see something, or someone, at the far end of the room. He shook his head finally. "I thought I saw someone, but it couldn't – Never mind. I was mistaken."

She looked back and forth between him and the space he had been staring at a few times. "Who, Barnabas?"

"No one dangerous," he said, seeing the alarm that instinctively rose in her eyes. "Anyhow, there's no one at all."

"Well, I wish you would–" she began impatiently, but the crowd had united in a smattering of polite applause. Julia and Barnabas joined them, both looking a bit relieved. Roger smiled, half-bowed, and strode from the podium, looking relieved it was over himself. 

"I didn't catch much of that," Barnabas admitted wryly.

"Neither did I. I suggest we put in the briefest possible appearance at the reception, then slip out as quietly as we came. I'm dying to get into my own bed."

"I don't know when I've heard such a good idea," he agreed.

"I saw you two slink in late!" A smirking Quentin approached them. "I hope you were busy with something I'd rather have been doing."

"Which would be almost anything," Julia laughed.

"True! Say, speaking of slinking in and out, have you seen my lady love?"

Barnabas and Julia exchanged a look, eyebrows raised, they did not bother to conceal. "No," Barnabas said, "I don't believe we have."

"Or perhaps we just didn't realize it," Julia put in.

Barnabas elbowed her, not too discreetly. Quentin noted their playful mood with curiosity. "You two _have_ been up to something more interesting."

"You have no idea."

Before Quentin could inquire further, two hands suddenly covered his eyes from behind. Neither Julia nor Barnabas had noticed the woman with the finely manicured fingernails, now giggling behind his back, approach. "Guess who?" 

Julia, still more interested in the joke between them than the identity of Quentin's latest flame, turned to Barnabas to share a laugh with him. But as Quentin captured the woman's wrists and pulled her into an embrace, Barnabas was not laughing. Julia saw the woman first through his eyes, which were wide and blank; he was stricken; his mouth was just a little agape.

Julia turned to see for herself, and at first saw only the perfect brunette French twist at the back of a head buried in Quentin's chest, laughing, trying to free her trim little-black-dress-clad self from his bear hug. She gained a few inches in the struggle, just enough to tip her head back and accept a goofy kiss on the nose. Julia gasped and clutched Barnabas' wrist. 

The woman broke free finally, and turned to face them; her face lit up with genuine warmth. "Barnabas! Julia! I didn't think you were going to make it!"

She was, unmistakably, Victoria Winters. Three years older than they had seen her last, but with the same spirit, and as lovely as ever.

"Vicky!" Julia strained for something to say. "You look so beautiful tonight."

"Oh!" She smiled, embarrassed. "Thank you. Roger's speech was terrific, wasn't it?"

"That's one word," Quentin grumbled.

Vicky hit him playfully, then noticed Barnabas' face, which had not altered much since he first laid eyes on her. "Barnabas? Are you feeling all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Now it was Julia's turn to elbow him. "He's all right – just a bit tired."

"I'll bet," Quentin smiled knowingly.

Barnabas stammered for a moment stupidly, no words rising to his throat. But, saving him from having to find any, another voice interrupted them, calling out his name; this "Barnabas!" decidedly higher pitched, more excited, and flying at him at top speed. A torpedo trailing red hair half his size crashed into him before he could react, wrapping her fragile arms around him in a fierce hug. 

"Amy?" He patted the top of her head, looking at Julia, bewildered. She shook her head, as confused as he was.

Amy, oblivious, pulled away from Barnabas and attacked Julia with almost as intense an embrace. "Julia! I'm so glad to be home."

"I'm glad you're home, too, Amy," Julia said softly, stroking the girl's hair as Barnabas had just done.

Quentin laughed harshly, breaking the moment. "Must have been a rotten vacation if you're that excited to come home to a lecture of Uncle Roger's."

"Oh, Quentin!" Vicky batted at him again.

Quentin went on, "Did Carolyn and Willie feed you porridge? Did David leave slimy things in your bed?"

"No, Uncle Quentin!" Amy giggled. 

Julia and Barnabas saw their own expressions mirrored on the other's face: mystified, and torn between relief to see the girl and sadness to think what it might mean that she was there.

Quentin brought them back to reality again. "Well, I don't know about you all, but I need a drink. Reception's across the hall. No point sitting by the door if you're not going to be the first one out!" 

Quentin and Vicky led the way out, holding hands. Amy, with a questioning look back at Julia and Barnabas, ran off again to rejoin David and Hallie. Left with a moment to think and confer, Barnabas and Julia retreated to a quieter corner of the hall, away from the audience filing out in the opposite direction.

"So much for a few small surprises!" Julia exclaimed, her back to the wall, crossing her arms about her. 

Barnabas faced her, one shoulder against the wall and standing almost too close, his body blocking the rest of the room from her view. "None of this makes any sense." He shook his head. "I don't understand it at all."

"Nothing we did in 1840 could have changed the events in Amy's life, or Vicky's, could it?" 

"I don't see how. But if they returned to Collinsport any other way, it would hardly qualify as the calm and peaceful winter Elizabeth spoke of."

"Too much has changed, Barnabas, and we've been back for only a few hours," she said anxiously. "Who knows how much more we've changed?"

"I don't think this was our doing, Julia. It just doesn't fit. But in any event, everyone seems happy, and safe. Perhaps we shouldn't be worried."

"I don't know. It all feels… wrong, somehow. Off."

"What do you mean?" He lowered his head and looked up at her in concern. 

"It's silly. Just a feeling, I guess."

He smiled reassuringly. "We're exhausted and paranoid, that's all. Everything is fine. We'll get our bearings."

"Should we tell them, or just Quentin, do you think? Let someone bring us up to speed?"

He looked uncertain, frowning and looking away. "Let's play it by ear for now."

"You do think something might be wrong!" She grabbed his wrist, forcing him to look her in the eye again.

"Absolutely not." He shook his head, his eyes dark and earnest. "I just don't think we should alarm anyone. Things will begin to make sense. And anyhow," he assumed a lighter tone, almost mocking himself, "we've been doing so well, so far, haven't we?"

"Yes, It's almost a fun game," she grimaced, then returned his smile. "All right. We'll play it by ear."

She began to go, but he did not move from his spot. His head was bowed, and he was playing with his ring again. She leaned against the wall again, and waited.

"Julia…" He trailed off. His words died in his throat.

"Barnabas, if you're still working on that apology, please, don't." She smiled at him gently.

"No, it's not that. I just wanted to tell you – even if there is no danger, if you have been staying at Wyndcliffe, I hope you'll stop. I do need you. And I'm not sorry about it."

"Barnabas…" He had caught her off guard. She was uneasy for a moment, but quickly, if gently, reasserted herself. She said quietly, "I don't know what I'll do."

He nodded. "We'll play it by ear."

She pushed herself away from the wall with a sudden burst of nervous energy, thrust her hands into her pockets. " And let's stick to the plan. Put in a quick appearance, then off to bed. Before this turns into an episode of 'This is Your Life'!"

They had started to walk out of the room when Barnabas stopped and said, "An episode of what?"

"Never mind," she laughed, falling against him. "Come on."


	3. Chapter 3

In the reception hall they split up, deciding they would cover more ground more quickly that way, facilitating a hasty exit. Julia sought out Elizabeth and Carolyn while Barnabas offered his congratulations to Roger on a speech he had barely heard.

Feeling brave, Julia decided to play along. "Carolyn, welcome home!" She hugged the younger woman. "You must be exhausted, looking after the children… Did you just get back tonight?"

Carolyn only looked slightly thrown, her natural enthusiasm supplanting the shadow of a _*you know very well we did*_ that swept, briefly, across her features. "Well yes, we almost missed Uncle Roger's speech, too! But we had a wonderful time. Amy was great, no trouble at all." 

"Good, I'm glad," Julia said, trying to hide her confusion at that last remark.

Carolyn adopted a devilish smile and lowered her voice, saying, "I hope we gave you enough time to relax properly."

"Carolyn!" Elizabeth scolded her half-heartedly, but she was clearly interested to hear Julia's response, too.

"Oh..." Julia was visibly flustered. "Well, you know me. I don't really do relaxing."

"That's all right, too!" Carolyn laughed.

Julia grabbed a drink off the tray as the server came around. She saw Carolyn exchange a look with Elizabeth as she took her first sip, and Elizabeth shake her head almost imperceptibly, a silent warning. Carolyn shook hers harder.

When she spoke, Carolyn's voice was all innocence. "Julia… where's your ring?" 

Julia almost spat out her drink. "My ring?"

"Mother noticed it earlier, and, well–"

"Carolyn!" This time Elizabeth's voice went high and cracked, angered by the betrayal.

"Oh, I know we're nosy and I'm not discreet, but we're worried about you, Julia. You're a dear friend. No, you're family."

"Julia," Elizabeth turned to her, almost physically blocking Carolyn out. "You don't owe us an explanation for anything."

Julia was shocked. She laughed to cover the fear that was plain on her face. "You're sweet to worry, both of you, but please don't leap to any conclusions. It's…" she struggled for an explanation, and kept it vague. "It's at the jeweler's."

"Both of yours?" Carolyn persisted lightly.

Julia's eyes widened, just a bit. "They're… they're being engraved."

"Oh!" Carolyn laughed again in relief. 

Elizabeth kept her composure, but was clearly equally soothed. "Julia, I am so sorry we pried into your affairs. Please, forgive us."

"No," Julia tried to laugh it off. "Not at all."

"You two have just seemed… a little on edge recently. I'm sorry, I don't know when to shut up." Carolyn tried to move the subject to safer ground. "Is it for your anniversary?"

"What?" Julia caught her breath again.

"Are you having them engraved for your anniversary?"

"Oh! Er, yes," Julia stammered, and finished her drink. "For our anniversary." She scanned the room with a look of desperation, but her eyes did not land on the figure she sought.

–––––––––––––

 

Roger had led Barnabas, Elliot, and a few of his friends from the country club to a small back room and broken out a box of cigars and the good brandy. Barnabas refused both. The other men gave Roger a good roasting while Barnabas hung back, deep in thought.

After a few minutes, Elliot broke ranks and joined Barnabas, grinning, "Time travel-lagged?"

Barnabas looked panicked for a moment, but Elliot waved his fears away. The other men weren't paying them any attention. Barnabas scowled. "It doesn't seem to affect you at all."

"On the contrary, I find it exhilarating!" He swirled his brandy and took a sip, inclined his head in appreciation. "Things have changed, haven't they?"

"I think Julia is worried about it."

"But you're not?"

Barnabas shrugged, impatient. "I don't know. I'm too tired to entertain any theories."

"It would seem you accomplished everything you set out to. Collinsport is a happier place than we left it."

"Yes."

"Happier for me, too. It would seem I've been courting Elizabeth since I've been away."

Barnabas raised his eyebrows, suddenly interested. "Are you sure?"

Stokes laughed, pleased with the reaction he received. "I can pick up signals from a woman as well as any man. And better than some," he added pointedly.

Barnabas scowled again. "Don't you feel foolish, taking up with someone just like that?"

"I've often wondered." Elliot continued laughing, mostly to himself. "But I can very easily understand it happening. I have always appreciated Elizabeth."

"So you don't think anything that's happened is strange?"

"Too soon to tell, perhaps. But I'm not having a bad time. Not at all."

The circle of men, by now a bit drunk, had moved on to the subject of each other's wives, and as he caught bits and pieces of the conversation Barnabas' face became wearier still. He was about to excuse himself when another name, this one well known to him, rose above the empty bravado.

One bellowed, "Where's Joe Haskell? Is he here tonight?"

Another laughed snidely, "Joe Haskell at the Historical Center! Ha!"

The first rejoined, "A shame. I'd like to tell him what I think of _his_ wife!"

A third whistled. "Little Maggie Evans!"

"Maggie Haskell," Roger corrected him primly, declining to comment further.

"Yeah, only good thing the guy's got, never lets you forget it either."

Elliot, seeing the ire rising in his companion, stopped him short. "Not remotely worth it, Barnabas. Let's go."

Once they were alone in the hall, Barnabas began to pace. "Maggie Evans! Victoria Winters!"

"Funny, isn't it?" Stokes was regarding him smugly again.

"Little Amy Jennings, too, and Joe," Barnabas snapped. "It's as if everyone who left Collinsport unhappily is back, safe and sound. I don't understand it, Elliot."

"No more do I," he admitted, shrugging. "It wouldn't seem that anything we did in 1840 could have changed events this dramatically. But there's no clear, clean line in any of this, traveling through time. You can't plot it out."

"Do you think we should tell anyone? Ask them what's happened? Julia asked me the same thing. I don't know what to do."

"What you need to do, Barnabas Collins," Elliot said, suddenly grave, "is stop recklessly trying to change things. Look at the life you have, and live it."

Barnabas studied his hands. "If I could ever get a grasp on it, perhaps I would."

"Come," Elliot said, interrupting him before he could slip too far into reverie. "Let's find Julia."

–––––––––––––

 

When Julia saw them approach, she looked as if she had found air for the first time that night. 

"We were just wondering to where you two had disappeared," Elizabeth teased them, her eyes locking on Elliot's for a brief moment that seemed to light up her whole face.

Barnabas and Julia exchanged glances again: each had much to fill the other in on.

"Roger trapped us in the boys' clubhouse," Elliot grinned.

"There's one everywhere he goes, isn't there?" Carolyn adopted a pose of pure wonderment.

"Don't you doubt it," Elliot winked at her.

Barnabas cleared his throat. "We hate to be last in and first out, but Julia and I are rather tired. I think we'll be heading home."

"You'll say good night to Roger for us, won't you?" Julia asked feigning regret.

"Of course," Elizabeth smiled graciously. "I'm glad you could come, and I know it meant the world to Roger to have his whole family here."

"He did wonderfully. Well, good night!" Julia took one step backward.

Barnabas followed suit. "Good night, Elizabeth, Carolyn. Elliot."

"Wait just a minute!" Carolyn laughed. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Are we?" Barnabas and Julia steeled themselves for another shock.

Carolyn raised one finger, asking them to wait. Elizabeth and Elliot had started chatting between themselves.

"Do you know what she's talking about?" Barnabas muttered.

"No, but–" Suddenly everything seemed to click: her eyes went wide in understanding; she buried her head in one hand, her other hand clutching at Barnabas' sleeve. "I have an idea."

Carolyn returned, crying, "Fun as it was, we can't keep her forever!" 

She playfully thrust Amy at Julia and Barnabas, who wrapped an arm around each of their waists, pulling them into a very unexpected family hug.

"Her bag is in my car. Willie can walk you out." Carolyn scanned the room once more, then, sighting him, flagged Willie down.

He hurried over, awkwardly clapping Barnabas on the back as he passed. "Hey babe," he said, kissing Carolyn on the cheek. "Hey Julia, Barnabas. Amy was great. You sure we can't keep her?"

"Apparently not!" Julia laughed, almost delirious from the long night's events. 

Willie crouched down beside the girl, grinning. "All right Amy, in that case we gotta make this one count. Race you to the car!"

They were off before Barnabas could get out a paternal, "I don't think you should–"

Julia laid one hand on his arm to quiet him. "They're all right." She turned again to their companions. "Good night, everyone."

Everyone said their good nights and Julia and Barnabas trailed Willie and Amy out to the parking lot. Once they reached the door and couldn't be overheard by anyone, Barnabas let out a long sigh. "Do you know what's going on? How is it that Amy is going home with us?"

"Another good question might be, how is it that we're going home together? Oh…" Julia groaned. "It's so hard to get information out of anyone without looking like a complete fool."

Amy and Willie had reached the car and turned back to look at them. Julia gave them a little wave. She and Barnabas continued to walk as slowly as possible. 

"Amy is our–?" Barnabas couldn't complete the sentence.

"I think we've adopted her, or, I don't know, maybe we're just taking care of her while Chris is away. If he's away!" She laughed, shaking her head. No one's return seemed impossible.

Barnabas was impatient. They didn't have much more time to talk alone. "What else did you find out about… about us?"

Julia sighed. "Well, I don't think I've been staying at Wyndcliffe."

"You live at the Old House." 

"We're married, I think, Barnabas."

"That couldn't all have happened in the last few months!" Barnabas exclaimed.

Julia's lips went thin, her eyes hardened. "That's how it is."

"I don't know what to say," he said quietly.

"Neither do I."

And they did not say any more until they reached the car. 

"Here you go, Barnabas," Willie handed over the girl's small suitcase. "Any time you need a little time to yourself, we'd be happy to have her."

"That's very kind of you, Willie. Thank you."

"Thanks, Willie," Julia called, distractedly. She was in the strange position of trying to follow the lead of a young girl she was actually in charge of. Amy acted as if nothing were amiss, said goodbye to Willie, and got into the backseat of the car.

"Did you have a good time, Amy?" Julia asked as she pulled out of the parking lot. 

"Oh. Yeah," Amy said quietly.

Julia glanced at her in the rearview mirror, and saw her staring out the window, her head propped on the heel of one hand, deep in her own thoughts. Next to her, Barnabas had struck the same pose.

"You must be tired," Julia tried again to engage her. "How long did it take to drive back?"

"Um…" Amy thought about it, but did not look up. "Two hours, I think."

"Nice to be home, though?"

"Yeah." Amy was still quiet and distant, but she smiled. That was enough for Julia. The rest of the short drive passed in silence. A short drive but a long way home.


	4. Chapter 4

Julia stood by the fireplace at the Old House, hugging her arms tightly around herself. There were photographs on the mantelpiece where there had not been before. She studied the fire, rather than the pictures. She did not want to dwell on them. 

"Perhaps things will begin to make sense now that we're back here." Barnabas startled her, approaching from behind. 

"Did you find out anything upstairs?"

"Just which is Amy's room. The last on the left, across from – from the master bedroom." He cleared his throat. "And I found out that she doesn't expect to be seen off to bed."

Julia smiled. "She's a young lady now. And as sensitive as she always was."

"True." Barnabas noticed the photographs for the first time and stared, his eyes wide in wonder at this life he had not participated in, but that was apparently his own. Pictures of himself with Amy, with the extended family; pictures of Amy with Chris, in happier times; pictures of happy times with Julia, too, and in the center, their wedding photo…

"You were right, Barnabas," she said softly. "Everything couldn't have happened in the last few months. Look. It was much longer ago." From her hairstyle alone, the age of the photographs was plain.

"I don't know what to think. It's all so strange." He turned to her, but she seemed unable to meet his eye, just as she had been unable to look closely at the pictures. He gestured to her customary chair by the fire, and joined her in his own. "Let's think this through."

"Oh, let's think it through tomorrow, Barnabas. I'm exhausted; that wasn't a lie. Aren't you?"

"I am, but I'm just fascinated to think…" He trailed off, his enthusiasm fading into uncertainty the moment the words were upon his lips.

"Did you notice what you've done to the place, too? The electricity?"

"That must have happened when you came."

"I'm sure I would have insisted on it." She rested her head against the back of the chair and looked at him directly for the first time since he'd come downstairs. "Barnabas, we won't be able to solve all the mysteries tonight. But before we talk to anyone else, I think we'd better decide what we're going to do… get our story straight."

He looked away and down at his hands again. Neither seemed brave enough at the same time to hold the other's eye contact. "Our story?" He would force her to say it.

"About us, Barnabas. I don't think we can just pretend to the world we're a happily married couple."

"That's not the only sort of married couple there is."

"I don't want to joke about it, Barnabas," she said quietly.

"Well, I don't think we should make any hasty decisions or act before we know more," he said with some air of decisiveness. 

"That's not your usual way," she said wryly.

He acknowledged the truth of it with a slight inclination of his head. "Perhaps I'm learning." He turned to look at her again and smiled, if a bit grimly. "It's confusing, almost absurd, that this has happened, but at the same time it isn't a difficult façade to maintain, is it? So we go around together – we do that anyhow. You live here – there are plenty of bedrooms. Nothing need change. And later, once things are clearer, if we want to do something about it, if we want to–"

"If we want to split up?" She returned his smile with equal grimness. "You make it sound so easy. What about Amy?"

"We'll take care of her. We must have thought we were up to it. We can't be such completely different people, can we?"

"I don't know, Barnabas. I guess not." A heavy sigh turned into a long yawn. "That settles enough for one night, I think. We should call it a night. I'm not sure how long it's actually been since I slept."

He rose and offered her a hand. "Don't think about it too hard."

She laughed and accepted his hand. They walked upstairs together.

–––––––––––––––

 

Julia laid the nightgown and robe she had selected from the bedroom she was supposed to share with Barnabas on the guest room bed she would actually occupy. She sat on the edge of the bed and covered her face with both hands, mortified; shook her head, ran her hands through her hair. "What a mess," she said right out loud. "Absurd," she laughed, bitterly, echoing the word he had used.

Slowly, she unzipped and peeled off her dress, slipped the nightgown on and pulled the robe around her. She wrapped it around her tightly, clutching it at her throat, her other hand wrapping around her waist, and stood. In her nervous rush, she had not grabbed everything she needed from their bedroom. She did not have a brush. She walked to the dressing table and rifled through the drawers: all empty. Exhausted and frustrated, she flopped down on the stool and regarded herself, briefly, in the mirror. "What are you doing?" she implored the image she saw, then turned away.

Defeated, she turned down the bed and crawled in. She was too tired to care about the usual nightly rituals anyhow. She could collect everything else she needed in the morning. She turned off the light and rolled onto her side, facing the window. The moon was nearly full. It had, she was dimly aware, a vaguely hypnotic effect on her. She stared at it and gradually let go everything else on her mind. She gave in. She slept.

–––––––––––––––

 

Several doors down, Barnabas lay alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was as exhausted as she was, but sleep still did not come easily to him. So much had happened to keep his tirelessly turning mind running at full clip. Their homecoming had been so eventful that he could not dwell at length on the outcome of their last adventure before plunging headlong into the next. But now, alone with his thoughts, his mind tormented him. Memory, regret, fear of the future swirled through his brain until he could no longer stand it.

He sat up suddenly, turning on the light again. He scanned the room for something to occupy his mind and noticed a book on the bedside table to his left. Islands in the Stream by Ernest Hemingway. He turned it over and read the blurb on the back cover. It did not matter to him what it was about, just then, but he raised his eyebrows in genuine interest. He opened the book and flipped through the pages. It fell open to a page where the text had been underlined, in thick black ink:

"Being against evil doesn't make you good. Tonight I was against it and then I was evil myself. I could feel it coming in just like a tide."

It must have been underlined as a reminder to himself, not that any was necessary. He acknowledged the blow as any sporting fencer might. He turned to page one and read. Slowly the act of reading did begin to relax him. He read until finally his mind stopped fighting with itself and sleep claimed the victor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I miscalculate what time of the year it was when they returned to 1971 versus when the series ended and incorrectly set them loose in the garden at the beginning of spring. Oh well. I had written some cute lines before I'd realized my mistake and couldn't bear to take them back for a simple, very un-DS thing like continuity. Time is a mysterious thing, after all.

Barnabas woke the next morning with a start, finding himself in familiar but unfamiliar surroundings. He lay there, taking stock of the situation for several long moments, then sat bolt upright almost in a panic, threw off the sheets, and rose to his feet. He drew back the curtains with one flourishing movement. Sunlight poured in, illuminating the room and his face. He closed his eyes and beamed, almost reverentially, basking in the warmth and light. He breathed easily. Morning was a victory.

At the door, he heard voices. He listened for a moment, but quickly understanding who they were, opened the door and stepped into the hall. 

Amy stood in Julia's doorway at the far end of the hallway, not very subtly trying to peer into the room. He saw Julia attempt to block the girl's view.

"Did you sleep well, Amy?" Julia asked, a bit flustered.

"Yeah…" Amy replied, distracted. "Julia… why are you sleeping in this room?"

"Oh, no special reason, Amy." He saw her think quickly for an answer that would satisfy the emotional, curious girl. "I do once in a while. Barnabas wanted to read last night; I was tired and couldn't sleep with the light on. That's all."

"Oh." Amy said. Barnabas wasn't sure if Amy accepted it or not.

"Good morning, ladies," Barnabas broke into their conversation, to Julia's evident relief. "Did you sleep well after all, Julia?"

"Yes, very." She laughed.

"It's no easier on her when I sleep, either," Barnabas said to Amy, as if letting her in on a secret. "Then I snore."

Amy laughed a bit at that; behind her back, Julia mouthed to Barnabas, _*Nicely done.*_

He accepted her praise with a smile. "Now, who's hungry?"

"I am!" Amy's natural enthusiasm had returned.

"What would you like?" Barnabas asked as they three headed downstairs.

"Oh, the usual," Amy said.

Barnabas and Julia exchanged bewildered looks before he adopted a joking tone and asked, "Chicken liver? Gruel? Vichyssoise?"

Amy laughed and twirled about to face him, rolling her eyes. "No, silly! Pancakes!"

"All right – why don't you go set the table, and we'll meet you downstairs."

Amy ran downstairs ahead of them, apparently pleased with the bargain.

"You're better at this than I am," Julia said, impressed with him.

"It's a bit easier with Amy, I imagine, than it will be with others. But I could be uncovered for a fraud any minute now: I don't know how to make pancakes."

"Then this time, I'll save you. I can make pancakes."

"I never took you for a cook," he said, now impressed with her.

"Don't mistake me for one now. It's the high point of a very limited repertoire." 

"Do you make coffee, too? I gather I lost Willie somewhere along the way."

"I can even make coffee."

"Then maybe I'll keep you." 

The remark was said lightly, but it stopped her in her tracks for a moment. She regained her composure and quipped, "The real mystery here, I think, is how have I managed to put up with you?"

"Let me try again," he adopted an air of mock contrition. "Perhaps we need to rent Mrs. Johnson out for a few hours a day?"

"That's a better thought," she laughed as she turned in to the kitchen.

––––––––––––––––––––

 

After breakfast, Amy left for Collinwood for her morning lessons. Julia was busying herself stacking the dishes when Barnabas stopped her with a light touch to one elbow. He offered her a fresh cup of coffee and said, "That can wait. Would you like to sit outside with me for a while?"

"It can't wait forever. Remember, no Willie." Still she accepted the cup, and followed him out of the dining room to the garden terrace outside.

They sat side by side on the wrought-iron bench, finding an unseasonably warm day and a spring come early to Maine. Hyacinths were in bloom; the forsythia needed cutting back. 

"This is going to seed without Willie," Barnabas observed.

"Well, I'm relieved to see I haven't gone too domestic. I don't have a green thumb."

"Maybe we should let it go – bring in more wildflowers; let nature have its way." 

Barnabas leaned his head back, closed his eyes, letting the sun wash over him again. Julia gave him an incredulous look he did not see. _*Maybe we should,*_ she mouthed silently, shaking her head.

"Or maybe I'll learn to take care of it myself. It's wonderful to be outside. You know," he said, lazily opening his eyes, "I was terrified to wake up this morning."

"Why?" She turned to him, eyes full of concern.

"It's silly. But some part of me thought I might wake up to find myself… what I was, again."

"That won't happen," she said firmly. "Angelique lifted the curse."

A chill came over him at the mention of her name. He went silent for long moments. When he spoke again, he changed the subject. "I wonder who the governess is at Collinwood these days? I suppose it couldn't be Maggie or Vicky."

Julia narrowed her eyes as she took a sip of coffee. "No, they both seem to have better things going. Vicky and Quentin – that's unexpected." She cast a sidelong glance at Barnabas to gauge his reaction.

He shook his head slightly and frowned. "Carolyn and Willie is what really confounds me."

"Everyone seems nicely paired off," Julia observed, then catching his eye, colored and turned away.

"I was thinking," he said, deftly changing, or avoiding, the subject again, "we should be able to find some clues here in the Old House. Perhaps we can begin to understand what happened, and when, before we have to speak to anyone else again."

"Yes, that's a good idea," she agreed. "I didn't look around much last night."

"Well, we were exhausted. Did you sleep well, honestly?" 

"For once, yes. You?"

"Not much. I never sleep very much, since…" He trailed off. He preferred not to speak of it directly.

"That will get better, in time. Give your body time to get used to things."

"If you say so, I believe it, Doctor."

The moment was broken by a voice calling from inside the house, "Hello? Is anyone in?"

Barnabas frowned, not in the mood for company. But Julia called back, "Out here, Elliot!"

Elliot Stokes ambled out, chuckling to himself in a way that only served to worsen Barnabas' mood. He observed their languid postures, nursing their coffee, and said brightly, "You two are acclimating to domestic life easily, I see!"

"We're taking a moment to relax before the next catastrophe," Julia laughed. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

He declined with the wave of a hand. "I won't stay long, but I wanted to speak to you both as soon as possible. I've been thinking about the situation we find ourselves in. I believe I know what's going on here."

"You think there's something more to it, than what we changed in 1840?" Julia asked.

"I do. I've been over my old appointment books and diaries, five years into the past so far. It just doesn't add up. Things were different long before you or I traveled to the past. Things that are in no way related to what we did there."

"But last night you said there are no clear lines in this, no way to predict cause and effect," Barnabas reminded him.

"That's true," Elliot acknowledged. "But if what we did changed events so dramatically, I believe we would see the result far back, our whole lives ought to have been changed; the lives of our ancestors from 1840 till we were born ought to have been changed. But when I look back at my records, everything was quite the same until a point in time very recently; near as I can figure, some time in the fall of 1967."

"If that's true, I don't see what relationship 1840 would have with 1967. There was no sign of Gerard then," Julia mused, looking to Barnabas for his thoughts.

Barnabas shook his head, not understanding. "So what do you think happened, if it wasn't our actions that caused it?"

"I can't explain 1967 yet," Elliot admitted. "That's where I need your assistance. But I do feel quite certain that when we came up those stairs yesterday, we returned not to our own time, but to a band of parallel time."

Barnabas and Julia were both stunned. Gradually his expression turned to a skeptical frown and hers to a curious receptiveness.

Elliot continued, "Between Quentin's staircase, the use of Gerard's powers, and the parallel time room we know was active, I think that time and location was the site of highly unstable temporal forces. When we walked up those stairs, we did not know where we would end up. We assumed we had succeeded because this seems so like our time. But I believe we were shifted into another band of time, very close to ours."

"It's fascinating," Julia mused. "Do you mean physically close, as if the staircase just missed the right… exit?"

"I believe that is a fine analogy, Julia. Indeed. Imagine if every band of parallel time exists in a sort of elaborate highway system, extending laterally across a plane, some near, some far. Some intersecting, and some never meeting at any point. The closer they run and the more frequently they intersect, the more similar they are."

"Then," Julia followed his reasoning, "perhaps this time and our own were largely the same until some event happened in October 1967 to cause them to split? Is that what you think?"

Stokes beamed as if at a star pupil who had just had a major breakthrough. "That is exactly what I think, Julia."

"But we have seen that people cannot stay in parallel time for more than a few minutes if their counterparts also exist in that time," Barnabas objected. "If this is parallel time, all three of us already existed here. What do you suppose happened to them?"

Elliot had a ready answer. "Most likely they were shifted into our time. Or perhaps another. Perhaps the shift impacted any number of time bands."

"It's too incredible," Barnabas muttered.

"No, it makes sense Barnabas!" Julia grabbed his arm as another idea came to her. "I forgot to tell you about this last night, but both Carolyn and Elizabeth noticed that I wasn't wearing my wedding ring." Her voice caught just a little as she made reference to it, as it did every time the subject confronted them. Recovering, she went on, "If this really were our time band, wouldn't we have those rings?"

Barnabas considered this. "So you're suggesting our counterparts, who truly are married, have the rings in whatever band of time they ended up in."

"Just as surely as they have the clothes on their backs!" Julia said, excited as if this clinched it. 

"It's the only logical explanation, Barnabas," Elliot said with an air of finality.

"There aren't always logical explanations," Barnabas reminded them both. "But I must admit, it makes sense. Much more sense than anything else we've considered." He tried to look to Julia for confirmation, but she turned away from him suddenly, stung.

She sighed, rousing herself to sit up straighter. "So what can we do to return to our own time? Desmond destroyed the staircase. I don't suppose the parallel time room will work?"

Elliot shook his head. "It's worth exploring, but I believe that room is a bridge between two bands of parallel time only, our own band and the one we saw in that room in 1840. That band of time was too radically different from this one to think they were the same."

"So we have to find another way home," Julia observed, grimly.

"And quickly, in my opinion." Stokes leaned forward, a grave look coming over his face, displacing his academic enthusiasm for his theories. "I don't want to do anything to change the course the people in this time band are on."

Barnabas raised his eyebrows and regarded him slyly. "So now do you feel uncomfortable about courting Elizabeth?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. If I continue, I'd be pretending to be a man I'm not. If I don't, I'll surely be spoiling their burgeoning relationship. You two are luckier, in a way: you're in it together."

"And so are they, wherever they are," Julia said distantly. "The Barnabas and Julia who are in love."

"So we need to put all our energy into finding out how to get home," Elliot tried to keep them focused. "I'm going to go home and continue my research on parallel time and hope I can find a way. Meanwhile, I would ask you two to find out what you can about what happened in 1967."

"We were planning on spending the day looking around the Old House for clues," Julia said. "Perhaps we'll find something useful."

"Yes. Good." Elliot stood. "Let's stay in frequent contact. Did I notice you had a telephone installed?"

" _They_ did, yes," Julia laughed, rising, too. "I'll see you out, Elliot. And we'll give you a call if we find out anything that might be helpful."

Julia walked him to the door, her mind reeling. Once they were out of Barnabas' earshot, she said, "You've given us a lot to think about."

"Yes," he said ruefully, "And I have no illusions that it will be easy to find our way home. But perhaps you're both a bit relieved, that you don't have to come to terms with this conjugal situation."

"No, I guess we don't," she said quietly. "It never really happened for us."

"I'm sorry, Julia." He laid a gentle hand on her arm. 

"He said it was absurd." Her words were sad, but she forced out a laugh of pretended indifference. "Yes, it is a relief. Perhaps it won't be easy, but it'll be easier to figure out why in order to get home than to figure out why in terms of the two of us."

He gave her arm one last squeeze and then opened the door. "We'll be in touch if anything comes up."

"Yes. Bye, Elliot."

"Goodbye, Julia."

She walked slowly back through the drawing room, her head down. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't realize Barnabas had entered the room and almost ran right into him. She let out an "Oh!" and looked at him uncertainly. How long had he been there?

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he said, looking uncomfortable, too. "It's amazing. Do you think Stokes is right?"

"I do," she nodded. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Isn't it?" There was an edge to her question.

"Yes, I suppose things make a lot more sense than they did yesterday."

She sighed and walked away from him. "We'd better get started looking around. Divide and conquer? You start with the drawing room, I'll take the bedrooms?"

"Yes, that's a good idea." He did not move from his spot, fiddling with his black onyx ring nervously. "Julia, when Elizabeth and Carolyn noticed your ring was missing, what did you tell them?"

"Oh, I didn't know what to tell them. I really do need to get better at making up stories. I could only think to tell them it was at the jeweler's, and when they wondered why both of ours were missing, I said they were being engraved."

He nodded. "I hope that satisfied them."

"It will for the time being." She laughed. "They're sweet and they care about us, but your family really is incredibly nosy."

"Yes. I imagine they will be a problem. Perhaps we should limit our contact as much as possible. But we will have to keep up appearances, I agree – when our counterparts return, I don't want them to have to face a lot of questions."

"It's a nice time band, isn't it?" she mused thoughtfully. "Everyone so happy here. I feel oddly… protective of it."

"It is nice to think somewhere someone like us is happy, not one crisis and heartbreak after another."

"And yet, just think… If Elliot is right, it may be our own fault. Perhaps if we had done one thing differently, in the fall of 1967, we all could have been just as happy."

"I can't imagine what. 1967... That's a time I don't care to remember," he admitted. His face was pained. 

She approached him again, speaking softly. "It might be difficult to revisit, if everything truly was the same up to that point, but just think that something good came of all of it, in this time. And something good can come of it for us, if it leads us home."

"You're right." He pulled himself together. "I'll start with the desk here, maybe I can find something in these papers."

She nodded. "I'll be upstairs if you need me."

As she walked away he watched her, frowning and still twisting his ring. He watched the space where she had been, after she disappeared on the staircase. Finally he sighed, turned away, and got to work.


	6. Chapter 6

Julia began her search at the room at the top of the stairs – what had been Josette's room. She opened the door slowly and peered in, cautiously, as if afraid her mere presence could bring everything crashing down. Finding this not the case, she entered, closed the door behind her, and turned on the light switch.

At first glance, the electric lighting seemed to be the only thing that had changed. As she looked around, everything about the room looked as perfectly preserved as it had been in her own time, the same pastel shades of blue and green, the same canopy bed and furniture, the same rose marble fireplace. But above the fireplace, the portrait of Josette was gone. She looked to her side at the dressing table. Josette's effects, too, were now absent. Julia smiled to herself, then shook her head, trying to erase the smile. She was not entirely successful. 

She looked through the dressing table, finding nothing unusual in the drawers. The bedside table drawers were also empty, and there was nothing remarkable on the mantelpiece. Satisfied there was nothing of interest here, she turned off the light, and left as quietly as she had come.

She passed the room she had slept in last night, knowing it was just as empty. Next she went to Amy's room, entering with more confidence in her right to do so. It was an ordinary preteen girl's room, painted in shades of violet, with pictures of young heartthrobs torn from magazines taped to the walls. On her nightstand, Amy kept two photographs, one of her caught in Chris' bear hug, and another with Julia and Barnabas, Barnabas' hands on Amy's shoulder, and one of Julia's hands covering one of his. Julia smiled sadly as she picked up and put down one and then the other. She blinked rapidly, and moved on.

She laid a hand on the girl's desk drawer, but stopped herself. "Better not," she said to herself. On top of the desk, propped open, was a birthday card. This Julia picked up and read; under the printed greeting was a note in her own hand:

_"Happy birthday, Amy! We are so proud of the beautiful young woman you are growing into."_

And next to it, Barnabas wrote:

_"Amy, you have made our family complete. We are lucky and thankful to have you in our lives."_

She put the card back down and sighed, her face a jumble of emotions. There was not a matching card from Chris.

Julia took a cursory glance at the other objects lying in plain sight around the room, but did not see anything else of significance. On her way out, she picked up Amy's nightgown, thrown off carelessly on the floor, folded and placed it neatly on the end of the girl's bed. Her fingertips brushed the fabric absently as she gave the room a last look. Once she had decided to go, she left quickly, not looking back.

She glanced in the other guest rooms, but none appeared to have been used in some time or to hold more than the usual assortment of furnishings. There was nothing left but the master at the end of the hall, the room she shared with Barnabas. Or the room some Julia shared with some other Barnabas. She put her hand on the knob, inhaled deeply, and entered.

She had been in the room the night before, but had collected her things so quickly and nervously that she had barely looked around. And the room was so naturally ill-lit, done in dark mahogany, deep red and navy upholstery and draperies, and with few lamps scattered about the large room, that she could not have seen much in any case. She tied back the drapes where Barnabas hand flung them open that morning, and repeated the process at every window of the room, keeping her hands busy. Once she finished she found the room did take in a lot of natural light, and it was quite handsome. 

"You're as bad as Amy," she said softly, picking his robe up from the floor and setting it down neatly on the bed. She sat down next to it; he had, at least, made the bed, with a fastidiousness she would not have matched. She did not remove her hand from the robe immediately, playing with the lapels absently. Finally she sighed and said out loud, again, to herself, "Oh, where do I start here?"

As good a place as any, she reached out for the book on the night table closer to her. The latest volume of the American Journal of Psychiatry; so the left was her side of the bed. She flipped through the book and a single sheet of paper that had been used as a bookmark fell out and floated to the floor. She picked it up and, recognizing Barnabas' handwriting again, read the letter, dated a week prior:

> Dearest Julia,
> 
> You will tire of hearing it long before I tire of saying it, what a gift you are in my life, and how little there would be of value in it without you. I don't mean only for the usual reasons, which you have been infinitely patient in listening to, and which you have helped me to work through – almost completely now, I promise. But even if it weren't for that, even if my soul had not been torn into a million pieces by the man I had been, scattered to the four winds for you to retrieve and try to piece together, to make almost a whole man – even if I had been quite an ordinary man, ordinary but whole, I never would have known half the peace and happiness I know now with you. Is it a dark and terrible thing to be grateful in spite of everything, for if my life had not unfolded as it did, I would never have known you? Perhaps that is the last fear and regret I have to work through now. That I can be, and am, so absolutely happy – and it is entirely because of you.
> 
> Please know and believe as I do that whatever problems we now face we will face and survive as we always have done: together.
> 
> Forgive this midnight ramble. I know you will understand and still I ask you to forgive me – and forgive me, and forgive me. I am watching you sleeping peacefully next to me and I can only think no matter how many years we have, they will never be enough; no matter how close to me you are, you will never be close enough.
> 
> Ever morbid, but I love you,  
>  Barnabas

Julia carefully refolded the letter, placed it back in the book, and replaced the book on the table. As soon as she had done so, the tears came, and she brushed them away angrily. "Damn it," she swore, but still the tears came. She leaned her back against the headboard for support and breathed in and out slowly, trying to regain control over her emotions; but as soon as she'd done it – assumed "her" place in their bed – she realized it and bolted to her feet.

Pacing slowly and hugging her arms about her, she continued to work to slow her breathing and commanded herself, "Stop. Stop it." Gradually she became master of her feelings again.

She resumed rifling through the drawers on her side of the bed, finding nothing but more medical texts, and a few old shopping and to-do lists. She approached his bedside table with some hesitation, but found it characteristically spare and organized; there was only the novel he was reading, the Hemingway, and a pen and pad of paper, the same he had used to write the letter to Julia, but the rest of the pages were blank.

Suddenly an idea came to her, and she looked around the room thoughtfully, only wondering where she was likely to keep it. Her eyes lit upon the writing table in the corner. It, too, seemed to have clearly defined Barnabas areas and Julia areas, marked by their varying adherence to schemes of organization. In the middle of a pile of hastily stacked papers, Julia found what she was looking for: her appointment book, 1971 embossed in small gilt letters. On the shelf to the left of the table she found the volumes for 1967 through 1970. Her methods of organization worked for her, at least.

She took the books to a plush chair by the window and curled up, tucking her legs under her. She opened 1967 about mid-year and began, come what may, to go down her close counterpart's memory lane.

––––––––-------

Meanwhile, Barnabas sat at the desk in the drawing room, studying what were mostly legal and genealogical documents, unconsciously organizing and straightening as he progressed. The tax forms were incomprehensible to him; he saw Julia had completed them each year, beginning in 1968. Nothing seemed unusual in either of their wills. His banking and investment documents seemed in order, to the extent he understood them. Julia seemed to maintain most of these areas of their life. He smiled at the collection of electrical and phone bills, and shrugged. Folded up and misfiled with some charitable donation receipts, he found their marriage license. It was dated April 20th, 1968. He filed it somewhere more appropriate, replaced the folders, and shut the desk drawers.

He walked to the window and stood, watching the bright midday sunlight playing off the tree leaves. His eyebrows were knit in concentration, sorting out all they had learned and guessed in the not yet twenty-four hours they had been here. It had been an emotional and draining day, and those before it had been no easier. And yet everyone who actually lived in this time seemed so untroubled. "Stokes must be right," he muttered to himself. "This couldn't be anything but a parallel time."

He tore himself away from his thoughts and regarded the room again. There was not much else to look through. He had not learned much. A wedding date, and evidence of a full life. He walked over to the fireplace and inspected the photographs there again. He took the wedding photograph down again, and looked at it closely. They looked so happy, so at ease in each other's arms; he did not know when he had smiled so deeply, or when he had seen a smile like that on her face, a smile that began deep within and lit up her whole face. He held her left hand in his own at chest level; he saw the two simple, matching gold bands they did not have, symbolizing the love they did not have. He set the photograph down again. 

Getting an idea, Barnabas walked over to the stairs and made to call up to Julia, then reconsidered. Instead, he went to the desk for a pen and piece of paper. On the table in the hall, he left her a brief note:

> Julia,  
> I have made no important discoveries, but I wanted to check into something in the village. I'll return by suppertime.  
> –Barnabas

He left in a hurry, not looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

Julia came downstairs as the clock was striking three. "Barnabas?" she called. No answer. She found his note on the table, read it, and crumpled it up. She looked around the drawing room, but he had left no clue of what he had been doing or thinking when he got the idea to leave. 

She heard the door open and shut again, and rushed back to the door calling out his name again, but she found Amy, returning home from her lessons.

"Oh, Amy. Did you have a good time at Collinwood?"

"Yeah, I love the book we're reading, Little Women," she said, as she shrugged out of her light coat. Julia took it from her and hung it on the coat rack. "David doesn't like it, though. But Miss Jennifer said last time he got to pick a boy book, so it's only fair."

So that was the new governess' name. Julia didn't know any Jennifer. "Little Women is a wonderful book; it'll do him some good to read, too."

"That's what Miss Jennifer said!" Amy seemed to hold the governess in high regard. "But I don't think I understand the math we're doing. Miss Jennifer gives me easier work than David because I'm younger, but I'm still confused."

"Well, perhaps I can help you with that. Did she give you an assignment for tomorrow? Why don't we work on that together until Barnabas comes home?"

"Where is Barnabas?" Amy asked, a note of worry creeping into her voice.

"He just went in to town on a few errands. He'll be back for dinner."

"Are we having spaghetti tonight?"

"Yes, of course!" Julia beamed, grateful to have the "usual" supplied for her this time, and that it was again something she could manage. "Come on, let's see what we can do about that math homework."

––––––––––––––

 

Barnabas returned to the Old House by six o'clock as promised, but failed to mention where he'd been – indicating with a gesture that he'd rather not say in front of Amy. Julia enjoyed another culinary triumph as the spaghetti was well-received by all. Barnabas was spirited enough throughout dinner to keep Amy comfortable, but often drifted off into a moody silence when Julia was keeping up the conversation or Amy left the room. After dinner, Amy preferred to continue reading her book, while Julia and Barnabas retired to the drawing room.

"Will you have a drink?" Barnabas offered.

"Will you join me?" She asked as if it were a condition.

He considered it for a moment. "Yes, I think so. Brandy?"

"Sure."

It was not exactly a nightly ritual, but they fell into it easily. 

Barnabas handed her one drink, and retired to his own chair opposite her with his own. "So," he said, "did you find any information that could solve our mystery?"

Julia sipped her brandy before replying, in no rush to start this conversation. "You know, if there are two things we're trying to find out here, for one how to get home, and for another where this time band split from our own, I think the latter is the far less important question."

"Perhaps," he said slowly, trying to read her, "but it's still important as long as we're here, to understand this time as much as we can so that we don't say or do something wrong."

"Well, if Elliot's been successful, it won't matter much either way."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not certain whether you're saying this because you found nothing, or because you did find something and don't want to tell me."

"It's neither, actually." She shrugged, adopting an air of nonchalance. "I found something, but I just don't think it's so significant. We were expecting some big event, something monumental that could have affected all our lives. The only thing I could find was rather simple."

"What are you talking about, Julia?" He was growing impatient.

"I found my old appointment books, and then I found my old medical notes, from when I was treating you the first time. Yes, you were cursed in this time. But in October 1967, I cured you. That's all."

"How can you say 'That's all'?" He sat forward on his chair, his interest stirred. "And I never was– again? What was different?"

She laughed, a little bitterly. "You didn't fight me, Barnabas, or you did but I managed to persuade you to follow my treatments exactly. If you'll recall, in our time you were in too much of a rush to turn Vicky into your next Josette to wait even another week."

He looked down, wounded. "Yes, I know."

She immediately regretted having said it. She leaned forward and reached out for his hand. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I put it like that. That was terrible of me."

"Because now you know you could have cured me, for good. And I've said much worse things to you. You're right to be angry."

"No, I'm not. I'm really not. And I'm not angry, Barnabas." She sighed and leaned back in her chair again. "Please don't do that. I hated to tell you because I knew it would hurt you, and instead I've told you in the most hurtful way possible. And it doesn't even make any difference, really."

"Of course it does. It explains everything. Then everything falls into place. If I'd already been cured, I would never have met Dr. Lang; Victoria would not have met Jeff Clark, and she'd never have disappeared with him. Willie would have been released from my power so long ago, I'd never have forced him to do so many vile and evil things; of course he'd be a more stable young man now, and perhaps he is good for Carolyn. So many people would have been spared so many terrible things I put them through—"

"Barnabas– Barnabas, you've helped this family more over the years than you've ever–" She didn't want to say it: hurt them. She stood, not knowing what to say or do to help him, standing by his side at his chair. "Barnabas, you're a good man. The wrong you've done, you had no control over."

"But I did have that control, and neither of us can deny that now. I could have chosen in our time, as I did here, to wait for your treatments to take effect, to not have been half-mad with the fear of what Maggie and David and Burke could do to me, to not have been so obsessed with a past that was gone and recreating – forcing –…" He tried but could not bring himself to say the words out loud.

"Barnabas, please–"

"I had that control, Julia!" He stood suddenly in a rage of self-loathing, turning his back on her and walking away. "I could have controlled all of those things. I chose not to. And because I chose not to, Maggie and Joe are in a sanitarium, Vicky has disappeared into the past, Amy disappeared to god knows where, we may never know; and how many people are dead, by my hand?" 

"Don't do this to yourself, Barnabas," she said softly, going to him and reaching out for his arm. When he didn't pull away from her touch, she moved closer, wrapping her hands around each of his arms from behind, as if to hold him back from himself. She leaned her forehead lightly against his back. "Please don't."

"I will never understand," he said slowly, clearly trying with everything in him to say a hard thing gently, "how you can care for me after all I've done, and all I've done to you." He turned to face her and, with some difficulty, met her gaze, imploring her. 

"It has nothing to do with who you've been and what you've done in the past, Barnabas. You have been the greatest friend of my life," she said, a fierceness to her voice, desperate that he understand.

"I wish, even if only for your sake, I had chosen to act as I did in this time. I don't believe I've ever apologized to you, for the way I treated you in the beginning, and for all the little thoughtless things I've done since, for Dave Woodard, for trying to drive you crazy, for…" He shook his head, grieved, but forced himself to say the words. "I tried to kill you, Julia."

"Oh, Barnabas…" She pulled him into a real embrace, holding him as tightly as she could. "Please believe me. I forgave you so long ago, for all of that."

"It didn't have to be that way!" He raged again, his words hot against the back of her neck. He squeezed her tightly, too, in his rush of emotion – almost too tightly.

She bore it until he relented. Only when she felt him relax a bit did she pull back enough to look him in the eye again. "We know we can change events, but we can never really undo the things we've done. What's happened happened, but the past is past. You are not the man you were now. You are here, with me, now. Don't drag yourself back to that place. Stay here."

"I want to. I will." He let out a heavy sigh, as if expelling a demon, perhaps a legion of demons. "Thank you, Julia."

"Of course." Now that the tension had eased, it was awkward to be so close. She extracted herself delicately, and after a searching look to be sure he was all right, returned to her seat by the fire.

Barnabas followed suit, and after a long sip of his brandy, said, "Perhaps now is a good time to mention where I went this afternoon. It's either a terrible time or the perfect time, I'm not sure."

His words worried her momentarily, but when she looked at him she saw him smiling ruefully. He was weary, but the episode of overpowering guilt had passed definitely. 

"Maybe this is something we should have done together," he continued nervously, "or maybe it's something we shouldn't have done at all, but once I got the idea…" He cleared his throat and stood again, stepping toward her, resting one shoulder against the mantelpiece. "It simply occurred to me, my cousins aren't going to become any less inquisitive, and after a few days they'll start to wonder again…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small jewelry cases.

"Oh, Barnabas…" She looked away involuntarily, unable to face what was happening.

"I know this isn't the right way around things, and I promise, I'm only doing it to make our lives easier, as long as we're here…" He handed one of the boxes to her clumsily. "I think we should wear these, just so there are no more questions."

She opened the box and found a simple gold band, the exact likeness of the one her counterpart wore in the pictures. "It is lovely," she said quietly. 

"I did have it engraved, if they ask to see it. And the sentiment is true… from me to you, I mean."

She held the ring up to the light and read the inscription on the inside: True friendship is the truest love.

"The words are the same in both of ours." He swallowed hard, looking at her uncertainly. "Is it all right?"

"Yes–" The word caught in her throat. She blinked furiously. "And– the sentiment is true, from me to you, too."

She looked up at him finally, and couldn't hide the tears in her eyes entirely. They shared a smile that reassured and restored them both. He opened his box and put his ring on his finger. She put hers on, too.

"It was a good idea, Barnabas. And a very nice idea."

"I'm glad you think so. I was worried."

"You shouldn't have been." She finished her drink, stood, and hugged him briefly. "It's been a long day, but that was a nice end to it. I think I'll turn in for the night."

"So will I," he agreed, his face full of relief and gratitude.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked to the top of the stairs in silence. A comfortable silence, but one neither knew how to fill, all the same. Just outside the room she had slept in the night before, it occurred to him, "Do you need to grab any clothes from–?"

"Oh, no," she said. "I brought some more things over this afternoon after I went through the bedrooms." 

"Oh, all right, then." He stood at her door awkwardly for a moment. "Well, good night."

"Good night, Barnabas." She smiled at him, then opened the door.

"Julia?" Amy's voice came from down the hall. "Are you sleeping in that room again tonight?"

Julia looked to Barnabas uncertainly. He didn't seem to have a ready answer this time. "No, sweetheart – I just needed to grab something I left last night."

"Oh." Amy did not look reassured; she looked, in fact, as if she might cry. 

Julia looked to Barnabas again, and he nodded. They understood one another. He went to Amy while Julia ducked into the guest room. She grabbed her robe, and with a sigh, the brush she'd made a point of retrieving earlier that day.

Meanwhile, Barnabas went to Amy, and crouched down to her height. "What's wrong, Amy?"

"Nothing," she said, her eyes going wide, in what she must have thought was a convincing expression.

"Are you worried about Julia and me?"

"What do you mean?" Amy asked, eyes still wide.

"Amy, Julia and I love you very much, and nothing is going to happen to change our family," he said, stroking her hair.

"Okay," she said, looking at her feet.

Julia joined them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Everything all right?" 

"Everything is just fine. Isn't it, Amy?"

"Yeah," Amy said, looking up and smiling.

"Good. Give me a hug."

Amy hugged first Barnabas, then Julia, and said her good nights to them both. She did seem more relaxed, but she watched from her doorway until Barnabas and Julia disappeared behind their own door. 

–––––––––––––

 

On the other side of the door, Julia said, "I could just wait ten or twenty minutes, and then go back to my room."

Barnabas shook his head. "She'll be upset if she sees you go in or out of there again, and she's bound to sooner or later. Perhaps it would be easier if you just stayed here. If you don't mind," he added quickly.

"No… I don't mind." She shifted uncomfortably, still standing by the door, betraying her words. 

"I'll sleep on the floor, of course," he said, grabbing two pillows from the bed.

"Oh, no – I couldn't let you do that."

"I've slept in more uncomfortable places," he pointed out, with a weak smile.

"Really though, please – I'd feel terrible. I couldn't sleep in that huge bed if you were on the floor. It's not a big deal. I mean – if _you_ don't mind."

"No, all right." He put the pillows back down on the bed. "Is it silly to do this, just for the benefit of a twelve-year-old girl?"

"I don't know, maybe it is too indulgent." Relieved to change the subject, Julia finally moved away from the door, and helped him turn down the bed. "But she's been through so much. Anyway, we're only doing what the Julia and Barnabas she knows would do. It's not really as if we're lying just to please her."

"She's so emotional, so fragile… What do you think, as a doctor? Is she all right?"

"I would be more worried if she acted any other way, to be honest with you. She's lost her parents, one brother, and her other brother has, she must feel, abandoned her. We're all the family she has. It's entirely reasonable for her to be afraid of losing us, too." She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him. "What you said to her was just right. You're very good with her."

He allowed himself a little smile. "If I am, I suppose it comes from my relationship with Sarah. I see a lot of Sarah in her."

"I can imagine. You know, I've never seen myself as a mother figure. And I'm an only child; no siblings or nieces and nephews. I don't think it's as natural for me as it is with you, but… it comes more naturally than I would have thought. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do – and while we're on the subject, I think you'd make a fine mother, Julia."

"Thanks," she smiled, too, gratified that he should think so. "I did make one decision I was rather proud of today. When I was searching up here, I almost went through her desk, thinking she might keep a diary that could tell us something… But I didn't want to violate her privacy, so I didn't look." 

"Good," he said, sitting on the other side of the bed. "I don't think all mothers would have done the same, even if they didn't need crucial information to find their way home across the barriers of time and space."

She laughed, a deep, throaty, genuine laugh. "Thank you for saying that. Today was a good day. We will find our way home."

He held her gaze and said, earnestly, "Yes. We will." 

She rose suddenly, breaking the moment. "Well – I'll go to the bathroom and change, I think."

"All right," Barnabas said, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed by the situation. He busied himself with needless ministrations to the pillows until she had selected her bedclothes and left the room.

When she returned – in the most conservative nightgown she could find and her robe tied tightly over it – she found Barnabas already in bed, changed into silk pajamas, reading the Hemingway.

"Is it good?" she asked as she walked toward him.

He looked up over the top of the book and said, "Yes – I started reading it last night. I should take a reading list back with me. The Barnabas of this time has had more time to catch up on modern literature, but I'm sure our tastes are similar."

She laughed again, a nervous edge to it this time, and hesitated for just a moment at the corner of the bed, as if wondering whether she should take off the robe or climb in awkwardly with it on. Shaking her head slightly, she threw off the robe and got into bed. The nightgown was modest in the bust and long, but sleeveless – in this time, Julia didn't seem to favor the frumpy, cozy things she was used to, and it stood to reason. Barnabas glanced at her sideways to see the lightly toned arms she usually kept covered, and turned away again quickly.

He cleared his throat. "I won't really keep you up by reading," he said, turning down the corner of a page to mark his place. 

"Oh no, don't stop on my account," she said quickly.

"No no, I'd rather just turn in."

"All right." She flashed him a quick smile. "Good night, then."

"Good night, Julia."

They each turned out the light at their respective bedside table, pulled the covers up around themselves, and turned on their sides facing away from each other, the space between them vast.


	9. Chapter 9

When Julia awoke the next morning, she was alone in their bed. She rolled over slowly, uncertainly, but found him gone. Always a restless sleeper, it was unusual for her to wake up in the same position she had fallen asleep in, but she had that morning, still facing away from him, at the far end of the bed. She smiled wryly. It could prove to be the upside of an awkward situation: her body and mind might be too mortified to do anything but shut down and sleep as long as they were in this time. She lay there for several minutes, staring blankly at the space where he had been. 

She rose with an air of finality, then, showered, and dressed quickly, continuing to be pleasantly surprised by the contents of her wardrobe in this time. Married life had evidently made her more conscious of her appearance; there were fewer dresses selected for pure comfort, more for showing off her slim frame and striking presence. She selected a belted shirt-dress with a starched high collar, and as to embrace the spirit of the thing, unbuttoned one more button than she might ordinarily have done. There were few of her usual flats and loafers, but she passed them over for a pair of kitten heels in cherry red. She was satisfied with the effect as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror, and did not resist a backward glance as she left the room.

Lured by the unmistakable smell of freshly brewed coffee, she found Barnabas in the kitchen, hovering over the machine as it finished a pot. She watched with some amusement as he struggled a bit to remove the carafe, his fingers working nervously. He managed, smiling slightly to himself, and poured two cups.

"You learn quickly," she said brightly, announcing her entrance at last.

"I watched you closely yesterday." Handing one cup to her, he was watching her closely again now, plainly noticing, and appreciating, the new clothes as much as she did. "It has been, ah – very informative, living with these new appliances and things."

"Admit it," she teased him, "you do enjoy the modern conveniences, don't you?"

"They have their advantages," he allowed. 

"It's good," she said, a little impressed by his coffee.

He was pleased with himself. "Can I get you anything else for breakfast?"

"No, no. Pancakes aside, I'm not big on breakfast."

"Amy's already off to Collinwood, by the way. She was in quite a rush. She certainly looks forward to her lessons with the governess, whoever she is," he said, then gestured to the door. "Would you like to sit in the garden again? It was nice yesterday."

"Yes, good idea." She smiled at him. It was a comfort to establish some sort of routine in all the madness. Once they sat on the bench, taking the same places as they had the day before, she noted, "You must have gotten up early."

"I hope I didn't disturb you. I told you – I don't seem to sleep very much. Perhaps on some level I can't stand to miss a moment of the sun."

"It's new still," she said, happy because he was happy.

"I don't think I'll ever take it for granted." He smiled, but wistfully, gradually fading into a sort of sadness. One thought inevitably led to another. He made a conscious effort to pull himself back more quickly than he sometimes did. "We didn't hear from Elliot again yesterday. I suppose he hasn't learned anything about our situation."

"Give him some time. It's only been a day."

"You're right, of course," he relented. "But I am anxious to get home. Everything I think to do, I reconsider and think, no, I'd better not; it's not what he would do. It's strange to think of living another man's life."

"Like what, for example, would you do?"

"This garden, for one thing. If we're going to continue spending our mornings out here, I'd like to fix it up. But it's not for me to do."

"I'm sure they'd consider it a gift!" she laughed. "Funny, though, to think it's bound to be the same for them. If it's true they're in our time, living our lives, probably getting us into a lot of trouble."

His eyebrows shot up, amused. "I'm sure they are, with those wedding bands."

"Perhaps they got a sense for things and took them off."

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, twisting his own ring. "I'm also anxious to get home to find out if we succeeded in 1840 after all. We'll never know until we make it back."

"You're right, of course, but we have no reason to think we didn't succeed." Looking up at him, she saw he was genuinely worried. She said gently, "One crisis at a time, Collins. Everything will be fine."

Inside the Old House, the phone rang, and they both sighed, annoyed by the interruption. 

"That's one modern convenience I think I could live happily without," Barnabas grumbled.

"I'll get it," she said, swatting him playfully on the wrist.

She had left him for five minutes at the most, but when she returned to the garden she found him deep in one of his moods. He did not hear her approach. He was staring blankly at nothing in particular, the shadow of a frown darkening his features. He started when she sat down again next to him, recrossing his legs nervously.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.

"Wasted time, everything I should have done differently." He shook his head sadly, not looking at her. "Who was it on the telephone?"

"It was Elizabeth. She asked me to come over for tea, 'with the girls.'"

"More ghosts from the past, presumably."

"Could be," she shrugged. "It sounds like a regular group. I'm supposed to know who's invited."

"I thought we were going to avoid seeing people as much as possible," he said, just a hint of admonishment in his voice.

"Well, it will be more suspicious if we avoid everyone altogether. A little girl talk should be fairly safe."

"'A little girl talk' sounds fairly dangerous, to me," he said seriously, causing her to laugh.

"Oh, it'll be fine. Besides, I'd like to meet this Jennifer Amy is so wild about."

"Do you really think she's so significant? She's just a governess."

She stopped herself from laughing out loud again. "Perhaps you're right. But I'm curious. And there's something else that bugs me. I want to have a better look around this Julia's room there than I did the other night."

"Yes, I don't understand why you keep a room there at all," he said, almost sounding irritated that she should.

"Probably to get far away from your snoring!" she needled him, still trying to rouse him from his dark mood.

"Do I really snore? Or anything?" Realizing his question sounded over-anxious, he added more lightly, "I've never really had anyone to ask before."

"Not much," she smiled at him teasingly. She turned away when he smiled back, returning to the subject. "But I do think it's strange. Maybe Elizabeth and Carolyn were worried for more than the fact that we weren't wearing our rings. If she stays at Collinwood from time to time…"

"You don't think that we— _they_ ," he corrected himself, "were unhappy, do you?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I'll just have a look around, that's all."


	10. Chapter 10

"Oh, Julia, come in," Elizabeth ushered her into the foyer of the great house with a smile and a welcoming gesture. "It's been too long since we did this."

"Over a month, I think?" Julia ventured, fishing for information.

"Almost two! I know you've had a lot on your mind." Elizabeth laid a sympathetic hand on her arm, then brightened. "Join us. Everyone's already here."

As Julia entered the drawing room, she found "everyone" was comprised of Vicky, Carolyn and Maggie. In turn, the first two women stood and embraced Julia warmly. Maggie remained seated, one arm wrapped around her bulging midsection.

"I hope you won't mind if I don't get up," Maggie excused herself with a smile. "Our tea will be cold before I manage to stand up and sit down again."

Julia tried to hide her shock with a laugh. "Of course not, I'll come to you." She hugged the younger woman as well as she could, laying a hand gently on her stomach. "You look like you're going to go into labor any minute!"

"Doc says I have two weeks to go, but I've battened down the hatches!"

"Yes," Carolyn giggled, "one false move and thar' she blows!"

They all laughed and sat around in a circle. Elizabeth poured the tea. "Before I forget, Julia," she said as she handed her a cup, "there's another special occasion coming up."

"Oh?" 

"She's forgotten already!" Carolyn exclaimed.

"Your anniversary, of course!" Elizabeth said in a well-controlled combination of exasperation and amusement. She looked over at Julia's left hand. "Oh, you have your rings back from the jeweler's?"

Vicky leaned forward anxiously and asked, "What does it say?" 

Embarrassed to say it out loud, Julia removed the ring and handed it to Vicky. The three younger girls passed it around, exchanging exaggerated dreamy sighs.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth continued, "If you already have a special night planned, I'll call the whole thing off. But I thought it might be a relief not to worry about it. I'd love to throw you a party here at Collinwood, just a few of your closest friends and the family – a quiet affair, I promise."

Put on the spot, Julia struggled to find a politely noncommittal response. "Well – that does sound very nice, Elizabeth. Thank you. I'll talk it over with Barnabas and let you know."

"Good," Elizabeth said firmly as she took the ring from Carolyn and looked at the inscription herself. "Oh, Julia, that's lovely. And so true," she said, handing the ring back to her.

"Barnabas was always such a romantic," Vicky gushed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Julia noticed Carolyn trying to shoot a meaningful look at her mother while Elizabeth, frowning slightly, pretended not to see.

"Three years already," Maggie shook her head. "After three years, does it feel like yesterday or a lifetime?"

"Sometimes it feels like it's only been three days!" Julia laughed. They all joined her in a joke they could not possibly understand.

"Well, congratulations," Vicky said. "You two are a model for us all."

"You know, for a time, I think Barnabas imagined himself in love with you, Vicky. Just a harmless crush," she added quickly, when she saw her begin to protest, "but he did. You too, Maggie. There was a time I thought I was the last woman on earth he'd ever look at romantically."

"But you two got together almost as soon as you came to Collinsport!" Vicky did protest.

"Maybe before you came he had a few silly flirtations, but I don't think he's looked at another woman ever since he met you," Maggie added with equal vehemence.

"It's sickening, really," Carolyn said, feigning resentment, then laughing.

Julia sighed, a smile crossing her lips in spite of herself. "Well, if you girls are right, I guess I was just so mad about him I couldn't see the truth."

"You sound like you still don't believe it," Maggie noted.

Julia sighed heavily. "There are times… He's so moody, you know. There are times I still can't read him. One moment he'll be carefree, laughing; the next, he goes off somewhere far away, deep in his own thoughts."

"But you don't think–" Vicky began, incredulous. 

Elizabeth interrupted her and said, "He's just a very sensitive soul."

"That's part of it," Julia acknowledged. She considered whether to hold her tongue or give voice to what was really on her mind. But the comforts of this girl talk session outweighed her desire not to stir the pot. "But he also has a past. He has loved before."

"Oh, Julia." They all looked at her with faces full of concern and sympathy.

"Sometimes I think – no, I know it: he's thinking of them, when he drifts off that way."

"I'll kill him," Maggie said with a ferociousness designed to make Julia laugh; but she meant it, too.

They all laughed, Julia's own laughter putting them at ease again. "It shouldn't come to that," she smiled, happier now that she'd said the words out loud, just once. "And please don't ever tell him I said any of this – and don't hold it against him, either. I don't hold it against him, not really."

"I still don't believe it's even true," Vicky insisted. "I've seen the way he looks at you for too many years, the way he seeks you out in a crowd, his eyes following you around the room."

"She's right, Julia," Elizabeth said. "I don't think he could live without you. If you could have seen him before he knew you – what a difference you've made to his life!"

"Perhaps I should just relax and enjoy what I have," Julia gave them a half-smile.

"All I know is, if you and Barnabas ever really have trouble then I give up!" Carolyn exclaimed, laughing but meaning it.

"What about you and Willie?" Julia asked. "Aren't things going well for you two?"

"Well," Carolyn rolled her eyes and flopped back on the couch, as if it were a long and exhausting story. "He's just an overgrown child, isn't he?"

"So are you, Carolyn," Elizabeth said gently but pointedly, smiling at her daughter.

"Oh, fair enough," Carolyn sighed. "Which is why we're always throwing temper tantrums at each other, I suppose."

"And why you'll always make up and play nice again, too," Maggie laughed.

"I don't want to hear it from you, or you," Carolyn said in mock anger, pointing a finger first at Maggie, then Vicky. "You're all too happy. Or you either, Julia, no matter what you think goes on in Barnabas' head. Or even you, Mother! My own mother, turned against me!"

"Oh," Elizabeth chuckled, looking down. "Well. Elliot hasn't called on me in two days."

"You know, I don't think he's feeling very well," Julia interjected, trying to cover for him. "Barnabas talked to him this morning, trying to meet him for lunch, but Elliot wasn't up for it, said he was going back to bed."

"Oh, well he should have told me!" Elizabeth cried, obviously relieved.

"Yes, you could have brought him Mrs. Johnson's chicken noodle soup, and that would have been the end of another fine romance," Maggie said, and they all laughed again. It was good, to be one of the girls.

"Excuse me – Mrs. Stoddard?" A timid voice interrupted them from the doorway.

"Yes, Jennifer?" Elizabeth responded, composing herself and looking up.

Julia turned around, anxious to see the present governess of Collinwood at last. It took a long, frozen moment in time for the full effect to register with her; slowly, as she took in the long sandy blonde tresses tied back in a clean, conservative ponytail, the wide eyes, the apple-stuffed cheeks and impossibly puckering lips, slowly the blood drained from her face as she regarded the other woman; make herself over any way she chose, call herself any name she liked, Julia would have known her anywhere. Involuntarily she whispered under her breath, " _Angelique._ "

Maggie and Vicky heard and turned to her, confused, but they were distracted when Jennifer spoke again. "I was just thinking of taking the children for a walk around the grounds. I wanted to let you know we'll be back in half an hour or so."

"All right, Jennifer. Have a nice time," Elizabeth called, turning back to their circle.

Julia, however, rose, setting down her tea. "Oh, Jennifer – I wonder if I could have a word with you." She strode toward the other woman, who nodded indulgently. Julia shut the doors behind her, and stepped into the foyer, trying to betray no emotion after recovering from the initial shock.

"I'll beat you to the tree!"   
"You'll never beat me!"

First Amy, then David easily overtaking her, and finally Hallie trailing at a slower pace, acting much too old for the sort of thing, descended the stairs.

"Oh, hi, Julia!" Amy yelled, laughing as she passed. 

"Slow down, you two!" Jennifer called after them. 

Hallie exchanged a look with her as she passed, clearly wanting to identify with the older blonde as equally mature and in control of the situation. "I'll tell them," she said.

"Thank you, Hallie. Tell them to wait at the tree. I'll meet you in five minutes."

Hallie nodded and followed them out, pleased with herself.

"If five minutes is enough time, Mrs. Collins?" Jennifer turned back to Julia, smiling ingratiatingly. 

"Yes, that's fine," Julia said evenly, sizing her up. "I just wanted to let you know you've had a great influence on Amy. She admires you."

"I'm glad. Of course, she admires you a great deal, too. It's good for her to have a lot of strong female role models in her life," Jennifer said, never breaking eye contact or dropping her smile. "She's a very troubled girl."

Something in the way she said it, with that fixed smile and an air of knowing, chilled Julia to the bone. Outwardly, her eyes only narrowed, just slightly. "I wanted to tell you, I'm concerned about her math skills. We went over her homework last night, but I don't think I explained it in terms she could understand."

"Oh, I'm sure you did very well," Jennifer said, patting her on the arm, making Julia's eyes now go involuntarily wide with instinctive rage. "But we went over the last few lessons again today, and I think you'll find she understands much better now."

"I'm glad to hear that." Julia recovered her composure and continued to study her closely.

"Is that all?" Jennifer asked, still maintaining her smile to the point of pain or absurdity. "If you like, at the end of our walk I could take Amy back to the Old House instead of back here."

"No!" Julia said, just a little bit too quickly and loudly. "No, bring her back here, we'll walk back together."

"All right. I just thought I might save you some time."

"Thank you, anyway, Jennifer. I'll let you go," Julia said, stepping back and crossing her arms.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Collins." She flashed her smile one last time, and turned toward the door. Halfway there, she turned back, and tossed over her shoulder, "Say hello to Barnabas for me." 

Once the door had closed behind her, Julia exhaled hard and shuddered. "She is Angelique, I know it!" she whispered to herself. She paced back and forth in the foyer for a minute, then stopped, forced herself to breathe deeply, closing her eyes and massaging the back of her neck. Finally, calm enough to pretend, and with no other option for the moment, she walked back to the drawing room, caught a fragment of the conversation, and fell right back into laughter and gossiping with the girls.


	11. Chapter 11

Julia took Amy's coat from her as they entered the Old House and hung it on the coat rack. She had quizzed the young girl all the way home about Jennifer, but still her governess sounded like sweetness itself when Amy spoke of her. "Why don't you go ahead and read your chapters for tonight? I'll call you when dinner is ready."

"All right," Amy agreed obediently, and went upstairs to her room.

Julia found Barnabas in the drawing room, engrossed in something he was reading by the fire. She rushed in. "Barnabas – Barnabas, I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong, Julia?" He looked up, worried by the urgency in her voice. "Did something happen at Collinwood?"

"Nothing happened, exactly, but I did meet Jennifer. Barnabas, she's—" Julia hesitated for a moment. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure she wanted to tell him. But she had no choice. She resumed, more quietly, "She's Angelique."

His eyes went wide. "What do you mean, she's Angelique?"

"She's Angelique, she looks like her, she talks like her…" She had nothing else to say about Angelique that Barnabas wanted to hear so she merely reemphasized, " _She is Angelique._ "

Barnabas sighed and relaxed, as if this were not to be taken seriously. "Or she is another girl named Jennifer who exists in this band of parallel time and bears a resemblance to Angelique."

"I wouldn't mistake her for anyone." Julia shook her head, certain. 

"Julia, you are the one who has reminded me time and time again that the people who live in parallel bands of time are not the same as the people we know," he said wearily. "Must I remind you now? I understand your fears, but I am sure she is just a governess."

"Just a governess." Julia flung herself back in her chair and laughed at the futility of it. "Angelique, a governess!"

"Julia, please be reasonable. If I thought she really were Angelique, of this time or ours–…"

"What, Barnabas?" She had recovered from her laughing fit and regarded him with a look of despair. "What would you do?"

"I don't know," he said testily, rising and beginning to pace, annoyed by the question. "Did you honestly get the impression that she was dangerous?"

Julia took a deep breath and sat up straight again, determined not to appear a bit of the hysteric he was making her out to be. "It's not what she said, but, yes, there was something in her tone that was threatening."

"Threatening how, exactly?" He turned back toward her, also making an effort to seem receptive, even if he did not feel it.

"I didn't like the way she spoke of Amy, said she was a 'troubled girl.' And the way she said 'Say hello to Barnabas for me'…" Julia shook her head in frustration. She knew it sounded foolish. "I just think we need to be on our guard, Barnabas. Angelique has turned up in all sorts of guises, and never with good intentions. I'm sorry, but there it is. If you're not worried, I'll deal with her myself."

"Julia, I take your concerns seriously," he said, sitting in the chair opposite her again. "I am only saying, let's not fear the worst before we have reason to."

"All right." She managed a weak smile in conciliation. "I'm not used to you being the voice of reason."

He returned her smile, then said, "I'll find a reason to visit Collinwood tomorrow and meet her. I'll know."

The suggestion chilled her. She stared at a spot on the floor. "I don't think either of us is capable of being objective where Angelique is concerned."

"I'll call Elliot, then, and ask him to come along. If she is Angelique, he always made her nervous."

"That's a good idea," she said quietly, but she continued to stare blankly at the floor.

"What is it, Julia?" he pressed her.

"She still cursed you in this time, Barnabas. She still caused the death of so many people you loved. And now, perhaps, she is still following you through time to bring you trouble. I…" She shook her head sadly. "I can't understand it, Barnabas."

"If she is Angelique, I can make things right. Once and for all," he said with a fire in his eyes. "In the meantime, why don't I throw something together for dinner tonight. You relax. I'll let you know when it's ready."

"All right. Thanks." She was not exactly appeased, but it sounded good for the moment.

Once he had left the room, she sighed heavily and clenched and unclenched her fists a few times in frustration. "Oh, let him have his Angelique," she said under her breath, not just a little bitterly.

She looked over to the table where he left what he had been reading. There was a neat stack of folded papers beside a box that contained still more, tied in neat bundles. Letters. Julia reached out for the stack Barnabas had been reading. She set the papers down in her lap, covered them with her hands, closed her eyes. She knew what they were and she wasn't sure she really wanted to read them.

Finally she forced herself to look. The first was undated, a hastily scrawled note:

> Dr. Hoffman
> 
> I apologize for my words and my actions tonight. I have faith in your abilities and I will try to remain patient. I owe you that after what you have done for me already. Sometimes a madness overtakes me and I don't know what I do – but there is no excusing my behavior. I can only promise you, if you will agree to continue treating me, if you come back here tomorrow morning of your own free will and see this note, that I will one day be able to show you the man I truly am, or wish to be.
> 
> Yours,  
>  Barnabas Collins

She read on, although it anguished her to do so, and they continued in much the same vein, gradually becoming more personal, and gradually darker:

> Dr. Hoffman,
> 
> I have no illusions that these notes atone for the words I say, or that they mean anything to you, but they seem to help me focus and remember myself. I hope you will not mind if I continue to write them and leave them for you to find.
> 
> I do want to remember myself. I do want to face reality and see the world as it is. You may cure me of my condition, but much more than that, you may help me to really live. This thought will not help you to endure me. This thought will not help you when my hands are around your throat. I never want to hurt you, I want to say to you I never will again, but I will not betray this moment of honesty now that I've found it. I will hurt you again.
> 
> Little deserving your aid or pity, I beg you because I have no god to beg to, save me from myself.  
>  B.

"They're hard to read, aren't they?" Barnabas stood in the doorway, watching her as she set one down and could not pick up another.

He had startled her, but she recovered quickly. "Yes, they are. Maybe we shouldn't read them."

"The clue we need to find our way to our own time could be contained in those letters," he objected.

Julia shook her head sadly. "They're personal to them, and painful to us. I didn't learn anything useful in reading them – did you?"

"Not yet," he admitted, frowning.

"He used these letters to connect with his present, but for us to dwell on them would be dwelling on the past. And not even our past."

He closed his eyes tightly, momentarily overpowered by his emotions. "That's what I cannot stand – it could have been our past."

"You have to let it go, Barnabas," she said softly.

When he opened his eyes again, they sought hers, searching deeply. "Can you help me now, as she did then?"

Taken aback by his question, unable to give him the answer he wanted to hear, she could not hold his gaze. "Barnabas… no one can save you from yourself. I couldn't do that if I tried."

He nodded, accepting this, sadly but without argument. "I came in to say dinner is ready. I'll let Amy know."

"Okay." She watched him as he left the room, miserable even if what she had said were true. "Barnabas…" She called after him, but didn't know what to say.

"It's all right, Julia." His face betrayed no emotion. "I left out a bottle of wine – would you pour it?"

"Sure." She gave him a half smile, and when he was gone up the stairs she turned on her heel into the kitchen and did just that; the alternative to keeping her hands and her mind busy at that moment held no attraction to her.


	12. Chapter 12

When they retired to bed, there was less awkwardness than the night before. They had come to an easy, silent agreement in the choreography of bathroom trips, changing, and getting in and out of bed. They maintained strictly separate spheres within the room. She made a point of being under the covers before him, this time. They did not speak any more about Angelique or the letters that passed between another Barnabas and another Julia. Whatever moment of connection they had made and quickly broken earlier did not recur. 

"Good night, Barnabas," she said, turning on her side and facing away from him.

"Good night, Julia," he echoed, turning off the light and following suit, his back to her, leaving the same great distance between them.

Less mortified through repetition, her body and mind did not merely shut down this time. She lay in bed wide awake, staring out the window at the full moon which played across her skin and the folds of the dark velvet coverlet. Beside her, she could tell by his breathing, Barnabas slept soundly. Despite what he said, what sleep he did get seemed to be deep enough. She did feel restless, and he was asleep. She flopped onto her back and tried staring at the ceiling for a while. He did not stir.

She looked over at him. His body rose and fell with his breathing. She turned back to the ceiling, shaking her head. "Absurd," she reminded herself. It was a good word to keep close at hand. "Absurd," but all the same she closed her eyes again and let her thoughts drift as they may. Gradually her body relaxed and a slight smile came to her lips.

So much more relaxing was the thought of him than the presence of him that she had nearly succeeded in drifting off to sleep when their bedroom door flew open, and before she could react a weight was on her, pinning her down. She struggled for a moment to breathe, trying to gently shift her pint-sized attacker to the mattress. "Amy, what's wrong?"

Amy clung to her tightly, whimpering, unable to speak and almost choking herself with the violence of her sobs. Next to her, Barnabas turned on the light and reached out to stroke the girl's back. "What happened?" he asked Julia softly.

"I don't know," she whispered, petting the girl's hair while she cried into her shoulder. She was not calming down. She dug fingertips into Julia's back painfully. "Amy, honey…"

"Did you have a nightmare, Amy?" Barnabas asked in his most soothing voice. "It's not real, Amy. You're here with us. You're in no danger."

"But he is!" Amy choked out, shuddering in Julia's arms.

Julia looked at Barnabas helplessly, mouthing the name _*Chris.*_ He nodded, and looked out the window at the full moon. 

"Amy, Amy, you've got to breathe. Look at me." Julia gently forced her to sit up and held her at arm's length, caressing her shoulders as Barnabas continued to support her back with his strong hands. 

Julia breathed in and out deeply herself, motioning for Amy to do the same. With some difficulty, the girl began to regain control over herself. She was still shaking, but less violently than before. Her breathing was ragged but it had slowed to normal. 

"All right now?" She smiled reassuringly, brushing the last of the tears from the girl's face. "Here. Do you want to lay down with us for a while?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes crinkling and tears threatening to return with the effort it took to speak.

"Shhh," Barnabas soothed her as she lay back between them. "Rest now. You don't need to talk now." He looked to Julia as if for confirmation that that was right.

She nodded at him and smiled, and laid back down next to Amy. "You can stay with us tonight. Everything's all right, sweetheart."

Barnabas turned off the light again and curled up on the other side of Amy, forming a protective circle around her. He whispered, "We love you, Amy. Now, sleep. Sleep."

Amy had so thoroughly exhausted herself that she did fall back asleep almost instantly. Barnabas and Julia looked across her at each other, pain and worry on their faces. "Is she really all right, Julia?" he asked softly.

She draped one arm across Amy, an instinctive protective gesture. "Yes, I think so," she whispered, "but she needs help to deal with Chris."

"Do you think she knows what happens? Do you think she's seen him transform? It's strange she had a nightmare tonight… while it was probably happening."

"It could be just a coincidence. But perhaps in a few days, if she stays calm, I could try hypnosis."

He nodded. "I'm just glad she has us. As hard as it is for her… Perhaps it's better than it is for the Amy in our time. At least we – or they – can protect her, and give her a happy home." He also circled Amy with one arm, brushing Julia's as he did so. She did not move away, but looked up at him questioningly. He caressed her arm idly with his thumb and smiled. "It is a happy home, I think. At least, the happiest I've ever known."

"Me too," she said, returning his smile warmly. She settled her head down in the pillow and relaxed, finally. Barnabas did the same. All exhausted, all protected and with peace restored, they slept finally, the night through.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning, Barnabas placed two phone calls. One to Elliot to ask him to come to the Old House later to compare notes, and another to Collinwood to pave the way for the two men to pay a visit afterward. He reached Roger. 

"Roger, how are you? … Listen, I have an idea that we should stop letting the girls have all the fun. … Yes, you know all they do is talk about us when they get together. … Are you free tonight? … Yes, and I'll invite Elliot Stokes. … All right. See you then."

"You're getting rather good at that," Julia judged from her seat across the room. 

Barnabas shrugged. "He suggested it himself practically. He'll invite Quentin and 'one or two of the others,' he said. Like you, I gather I'm supposed to know who they are."

"I can't imagine Roger drinking brandy with Willie or Joe Haskell," she smirked. "He must have someone else in mind. I don't know who."

"I wouldn't be surprised by anyone at this point."

She agreed with a smile. 

To pass the time, Julia and Barnabas ventured outside the garden and took a leisurely stroll around the grounds. It was another unseasonably warm and sunny early spring day, and it seemed wrong to waste a moment of it. They walked mostly in silence for a long way, now and then remarking on the beauty of the day or noticing new bulbs that had begun to bloom. It was a comfortable silence, born of years of understanding and acceptance through every sort of trial and test. But still, after a time, he asked her, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Sorry. I did drift off there."

"You're worried about Amy." It was an observation, not a question.

She didn't deny it. "I thought about keeping her at home today. But I think it's best for her if everything goes on as normally as possible."

"You're at war with yourself," he said gently. "The doctor against the mother."

"Oh no," she laughed, suddenly a bit embarrassed, "Don't start confusing me for an earth mother."

"All right." He kept his smile to himself.

She added absently, "Anyway, that war was settled a long time ago."

He looked over at her questioningly, and saw her turn away. She did not want to be questioned, even if she wanted to have said it. He let it drop. "Are you worried about leaving her alone with Jennifer?"

She sighed. "Honestly, yes. I am. But it seems to be the only thing that Amy really looks forward to, her lessons. And I suppose I have no real reason…" She trailed off, unwilling to finish a sentence she did not believe. She changed the subject. "I forgot to mention it last night, it seemed so unimportant by comparison. But I did look around my room at Collinwood yesterday."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Did you find out anything?"

"No, not really. Just what I'd noticed before, a few dresses, bedclothes, toiletries. Everything she'd need to stay over a night or two. But I could tell she had been there somewhat recently. She left a medical journal published last month on her bedside table."

He pressed her, "But nothing more personal than that, no clues?" 

"I'm afraid not. It's just the essentials, but I'm sure she uses the room."

He stopped walking suddenly. She stopped a few paces away, turned and looked back at him, finding him lost in thought, twisting the gold band on his finger absently.

"What is it?" she asked, rejoining him.

"I don't know. It bothers me about that room, for some reason." 

His face was full of concern, so much so that it took her by surprise. She said, gently but firmly, "We have no reason to think it's for any sinister or sad reason. But I think we'd best leave it alone now. There are no clues there. The rest of it is their private business."

"You're right," he said, but his face looked no less grim.

"Do you want to sit for a while?" She gestured to a flat outcrop of rock several feet away, where they might bask in the sun and look out on an open field. 

"That's a good idea," he agreed, and took her elbow lightly, helping her up ahead of him. 

She kicked off her shoes lightheartedly, tucking her legs underneath her. Something in the sight of this cheered him as he assumed a slightly more formal pose beside her, crossing his legs over the edge of the rock. A sort of peace came over his face as he watched her close her eyes and throw her head back, the direct sun feeling almost hot on their skin.

"Thank you, Julia," he said simply.

Her eyes flew open, surprised by him again. "For what?"

He squinted in the sunlight, looking off over the field. "I know you don't think you have the power, but you do have a way of bringing me back to reality."

"Oh." Her face lit up in a smile she tried to suppress. "Well—you're welcome."

"I love the mornings we've spent together since we've been in this time. It's the only part of the day when this time makes sense – when everything at least looks normal, and it's just you and me. You're the only thing in this time that feels real to me."

The smile faded from her face. She looked down at the rock, at nothing in particular, saying vaguely, "We'll be back to reality soon enough."

He went on, oblivious to the change in her mood. "I know, Julia, I really do know, that that has been my problem. I never seem to understand what is real. I have allowed myself to be distracted by too many things that were not real. But I was born two hundred years ago. My time, parallel time – what difference does it make? Which is more real, for me? I've been confused since we've been here, even more than you have, I think, because my concept of reality was… limited, to start with."

"Where's this wisdom coming from, all of a sudden?" she asked lightly, resisting the urge to laugh.

His face was grave. "Again, thanks to you, Julia. You're the only link I have to reality here. And the only thing that makes this feel like home."

She shook her head, beginning to interject, "Barnabas…"

He plunged on, now on a roll, as if he were having a major breakthrough. "I suppose that's why I envy this Barnabas so much: he has made his life somehow real, and whole. In a way I never have learned how to do." He turned to her, finally, his eyes filled with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "You're the closest thing I have to that. You're the only real and good thing I have, and I depend upon that, now more than ever…"

"Barnabas…" she began again, but her words fizzled again under his impassioned stare. "Barnabas – we should head back. Elliot will be meeting us soon." 

His face was unreadable as his eyes lost focus, then drifted off to look over the fields of grass again. She turned away, too, in the opposite direction, biting her lip.

Suddenly a flash of panic overtook him, and he said, "Julia, we have to think about what we'll tell Elliot when he comes. I don't want to withhold anything from him that could help us get home, but we can hardly tell him the change in 1967 was your curing me of vampirism."

The thought roused her, too. "No, I suppose we can't. I'm not sure what we could say that would be close enough to the truth, but not too close."

"Suppose you cured me of something else, some other disease?"

"Perhaps…" she thought about it, looking concerned. "But I'm afraid it might just spark a thought in his mind that would make him more curious about you."

Barnabas frowned, worrying about this also. Stokes' curiosity had always concerned him. "Let's see what he has found out. If the split in the two bands of time seems immaterial after all, let's tell him we found nothing."

"And if it seems it would help?" The last thing she wanted to do was to endanger his secret, but Elliot was an ally, and no stranger to the supernatural. "Do you think it's time we could trust Elliot?"

He thought about this for a long time, and finally said, resolutely, "If it comes to it, we may have to risk it." 

Plainly, it chilled them both to think of it. Their eyes locked and they nodded in grim agreement. Whatever happened on this score, they silently understood, they would decide and see it through together. 

" _If_ it comes to it, I'm certain Elliot can be trusted," she said mostly to reassure him, not entirely certain of anything.

"You're the only person in this world I really trust," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Even I once had to earn that trust," she pointed out levelly, trying hard not to betray the way all of his words stabbed at her.

He pulled away slightly, reacting physically to her attempts to distance herself emotionally. 

"Come on," she said with sudden brightness, gathering up her shoes. "We should go, or he'll be waiting for us."

"Yes." He pulled himself together, too, and rose, helping her to her feet and offering her assistance she did not need to climb down the rock. Back on solid ground, he smiled down at her and offered his arm, which she did accept. They walked back in a silence as they had come, a silence punctuated by mild pleasantries as before, but a silence just a bit less comfortable and a bit less accustomed.


	14. Chapter 14

When Julia and Barnabas returned to the Old House, they found Elliot was indeed waiting for them. He had let himself in and taken a chair by the unlit fire. He regarded them with a bemused expression, looking from one to the other. "I hope you don't mind, I've made myself at home."

"Of course not. I'm sorry we made you wait," Julia said warmly. Barnabas trailed her into the drawing room, not in the mood for pleasantries.

"No matter. You've made yourselves at home here, too, so I figured it was all the same." Elliot's smile broadened into a grin. "Where have you two been?"

"For a walk," Barnabas said curtly.

"Ah," Elliot maintained his teasing tone, despite Barnabas' mood. "'In the spring a young man's fancy…'?"

Julia watched Barnabas' reaction with interest, careful not to let her own amusement show. Tennyson came a bit after his time, but he seemed to pick up Elliot's meaning well enough, and it exhausted his patience. 

"Elliot, I wonder if we could come straight to the point," Barnabas said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We have been anxious to reconnect with you and see what progress you've made in understanding our predicament and how we might get ourselves out of it."

"Certainly, we could," Elliot said with a slight shrug. "I was glad you called, Barnabas. I intended to keep in closer contact, but I've been so absorbed in my research I didn't like to break from it. And yet I have only more theories and questions to show for it, I'm sorry to say."

"What do you mean, Elliot? You haven't found any information that could help us find our way home?" Barnabas blurted out, as if it were an outrage. 

For the first time, Elliot seemed irritated by Barnabas' attitude. "As I'm sure you can imagine, Barnabas, there is not a great body of scholarly research around the subject. And if anyone has had the practical experience the three of us have had, they're keeping it quiet. To my knowledge, staircases through time were never laboratory tested nor peer reviewed."

Julia tried not to laugh. Barnabas raised a hand in contrition. "I apologize. Tell us what you have learned."

Appeased, Elliot continued. "My research has led me in many directions, most fruitfully to physics texts. There is a concept in physics that I think may have an application here: it's called symmetry breaking. Are either of you familiar with it?"

They both shook their heads.

"In its most basic terms, it is an event that causes a symmetrical system to become an asymmetrical system. In any well-ordered system, there are points at which an event may occur that can lead to one of two equally likely outcomes. That point, that event, is where the symmetry of the system is said to be broken."

"When you say a 'system,' do you mean time itself?" Julia asked, following him.

He nodded. "The concept is applied in particle physics, condensed matter physics, but in our case, yes, I believe we have found an application in time."

Barnabas asked, "How is this – this symmetry breaking different from the other events, other choices, that we know form other bands of time?"

"It is a very special case indeed," Elliot said, by now in full lecture mode. "When you're talking about symmetry, it is important to note that perfect symmetry simply does not exist in the physical world. It is an important concept, important for all kinds of equations and theories. But it doesn't exist in nature, and it shouldn't exist in time. And yet our time and this time were so perfectly symmetrical, symmetrical up to a point, that it almost cannot be believed."

"But we already knew that these bands of time were very close," Barnabas protested, not understanding the significance.

"When we last spoke, I did not appreciate just how close, and what it meant. I've been over and over not only my personal records, but world histories, newspapers – perfect symmetry. Not a single event changed, or even a moment off. It's extraordinary. But if this is so, if our two times were actually a perfectly ordered symmetrical system, until some event occurred to break it, then that event is not merely a matter of interest, but it could represent our way home."

Julia tensed, afraid this was where he was headed. "How can it, Elliot?"

"By this theory, that event would have had a perfect mathematical probability of resolving itself in one of two ways. In our time it went one way. In this, the other. Thereafter everything changed. But if we can recreate that moment, restore the symmetry of the system, I believe it will be the force needed to jostle us back into our correct band of time."

Elliot paused for a moment, allowing the theory to sink in for them. They both looked stunned, but excited by the prospect. He then leaned forward, chin resting on steepled fingers. "So now I must ask you. What progress have the two of you made in understanding the change that occurred in 1967?"

Julia and Barnabas exchanged nervous glances. Barnabas asked, if only to stall for time, "If you say all of world history was unchanged up to that point in 1967, couldn't it have been an event in anyone's life that caused the system to break?"

"A perfectly valid, but utterly pessimistic question," Stokes said with a smile. "Let us hope it has something to do with at least one of us. We could hardly control the event if it were otherwise."

Barnabas could not argue this point. He looked to Julia again for support, strength. He took a deep breath. "Elliot, I—"

Julia interjected quickly, "I think we understand the change that occurred, Elliot. But it's a matter of some sensitivity, a personal matter we need to ask your discretion about."

"Of course." He merely inclined his head. 

Julia laid a hand on Barnabas' forearm to silence him, and continued, "When I first met Barnabas, he was suffering from a very rare disorder. Quite a serious disorder. He didn't wish for his family to know that he was ill, or that I was treating him. To this day, no one knows."

"Why such a secret?" Elliot asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded each of their faces in turn.

"That isn't relevant," Julia said cautiously, gauging Elliot's reaction carefully. "As I said, it was a personal matter. What is relevant is that I was able to cure him in this time, in October of 1967. In our time, he was not cured until much later."

"What sort of disease? Or disorder, did you say?" 

Julia sighed, wishing he would but little expecting him to take something at face value for once. "A very rare blood disorder, Elliot. As a matter of fact, I don't believe there is a name for it. His was the only case I know quite like it."

"How groundbreaking of you!" Elliot exclaimed brightly, the sarcasm merely implied.

"Yes, I – I'm still working on publishing my research," Julia said quickly, then attempted a conspiratorial smile. "I haven't really had time over the years."

"But this Julia would have, don't you think?" Elliot returned her smile in kind, but it only made her more nervous. He added, looking to Barnabas, "Perhaps it will be named after you."

"I sense some doubt, Elliot," Barnabas said with quiet acerbity, his instinctive hostility overcoming his anxiety.

Elliot continued to smile at them both. "I'm merely wondering why I get the distinct impression that the two of you are withholding something from me. As usual."

Julia shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not."

Elliot sat back in his chair again, resigned. "Then I hope you will keep looking. This doesn't really fit the pattern."

"Why not?" Barnabas asked.

"It doesn't quite follow that you would be equally likely to be cured on one day in 1967 or another years later. It's not really an either/or proposition, is it? Especially not with such a brilliant doctor treating you. Your cure would seem to have been inevitable."

Julia considered how to frame her response carefully. "The either/or proposition, I think, is that in our time, Barnabas questioned my methods, and resisted my treatment. In this time, it appears he followed my treatments exactly. Couldn't that have been the event, a point in time when he could have chosen to do as I said or to fight me?"

Elliot studied them closely again, watched Barnabas look down at his hands, and Julia refuse to look at Barnabas. "If that was, somehow, the event, then it's no use to us now. It couldn't be the catalyst to send us home. It can't be repeated, can it?"

At that, Barnabas looked up sharply, terrified. "If that's the case, is it hopeless? Are we stuck here?"

Elliot was more optimistic. "Keep working at it. Perhaps you've missed something, some other point at which our time bands could have split. If we're very lucky, perhaps there is still a third way to cross from our band to this. We came here by way of Quentin's staircase; that has been destroyed. Restoring the symmetry to our two bands of time could do it; but the event may not be repeatable. We must be vigilant in looking for other routes, other connections. Time is a fragile, knotty thing. There may be many ways back."

Barnabas shook his head, dejected. "So we're back at square one."

"We understand better what we're up against," Elliot said, undaunted. "That's no small thing. I only ask that the two of you tell me everything you are able to discover. It needn't be a cataclysm. The smallest, seemingly insignificant act could, in theory, have this effect."

"Of course, Elliot," Julia smiled. "And speaking of what we're up against, there is another reason why we asked you to come over today."

"Oh?" 

"Yesterday, I met the current governess at Collinwood. She goes by the name of Jennifer." She eyed Barnabas as she spoke, but his face was impassive. "I believe she may truly be Angelique Bouchard."

Elliot's eyes went momentarily wide as he placed the name. "Our good friend Cassandra. Otherwise known as Valerie Collins."

"I think it may be so, yes," Julia confirmed, still keeping an eye on Barnabas, who remained silent and still. "Only, from what we can tell, she doesn't seem to have surfaced in this time band before now, not as Cassandra or Valerie or in any other guise."

"Still chasing Barnabas through the centuries?" Elliot wondered at this. "Incredible. What do you do to fascinate women so, may I ask?"

This remark seemed enough to provoke Barnabas from his quietude, but Julia quickly tried to steer them back to the subject. "We don't know for certain that it is her. Only I have met her. That's why Barnabas wanted to go to Collinwood with you today, to run into her and see what you both think."

"If she's a witch, I'll know it," Elliot said with an air of absolute certainty.

Julia nodded. "That's what we're counting on. In our time, Cassandra was frightened of you. You should have the same power over Jennifer now, if she is Angelique."

Barnabas was studying his hands again. Plainly this was not a conversation he cared to contribute to.

"What do you think, Barnabas?" Elliot asked nevertheless.

"I would like to meet her before I make up my mind," he said simply.

"Fair enough," Elliot acknowledged. "In that case, shall we?"

"Yes." Barnabas cast a quick look at Julia, then added, "Wait here a moment, Elliot. I want to run down to the cellar for a special bottle. Roger is organizing another meeting of the boys' club." He walked a few paces, then turned back, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Julia, do you remember where we saw the Croizet Bonaparte?"

"Yes, it's on the third shelf, all the way to the left – oh, never mind, I'll show you."

She followed him to the basement, leaving Elliot alone in the drawing room to think whatever he cared to.

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Barnabas whispered, "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

Julia hugged her arms about herself. "When the moment came, I just couldn't, Barnabas. I couldn't risk it."

"You never stop protecting me," he marveled at her. 

"No," she smiled, then collected herself. "Besides, it wouldn't have made any difference. He's right. It's not an event we can repeat."

His face hardened, that same gloom overtaking him again. "I'm afraid we really are stuck here, Julia."

She shook her head vehemently. "We will find a way, Barnabas." As their eyes locked for a moment, he almost seemed prepared to believe it. She pulled away and started for the stairs again. "Come on. Let's not let Elliot get any more suspicious than he's already bound to be."

"All right." He scanned the shelves, and retrieved the bottle. He repeated, impressed: "Third shelf, on the left."

She shrugged and laughed, "Stick with me."

He watched her ascend the stairs ahead of him, and there was an uncommon calm about him as he said to himself, "I will."


	15. Chapter 15

Roger met Barnabas and Elliot at the front door, accepting the gift of the cognac with an appreciative smile. "We'll have to get into this tonight," Roger said, leading the way to the study. Gesturing them in, he said, "Sam is already here. I'm afraid he and Quentin have already started."

Barnabas drew in his breath sharply as he turned into the room. Sure enough, there was Sam Evans sitting with Quentin, both off to a healthy head start in brandy consumption. 

Sam looked up vaguely and grunted as Roger, Elliot and Barnabas joined them. Quentin appeared relieved to have some better company, and poured them all a round.

"How are you, Sam?" Barnabas asked, crossing his legs and merely holding his brandy. 

Sam grunted again. "Well, I must say I was glad to hear from Roger. It's been a while since I've had anything to do that wasn't related to baby plans."

Barnabas' eyebrows were knit in confusion as he tried to make sense of the remark, then shot up as it dawned on him. Julia had failed to mention Maggie was pregnant. "Don't you enjoy it?" he asked, trying to take it in stride.

"Well, you know, I'm the only grandparent this kid's going to have," Sam said. "And I want to be involved. But there's a limit."

"We all need a little guy time, eh?" Quentin elbowed him, and knocked back the last of his second drink. "Cheers, all."

Sam did likewise, keeping pace, then asked, "What about you and Julia?"

"Pardon me?" 

"Personal question, I know, but I'm ahead of you," Sam said, raising his glass by way of explanation. "Didn't the two of you ever consider having children of your own?"

"Well, I – we—" Barnabas stammered, taken aback. 

"Sam," Roger spoke his name as if admonishing a child for poor table manners, "do let the man have a sip of his brandy before you start in on him."

"It's all right, Roger," Barnabas said good-naturedly, having noticing Elliot quietly enjoying his discomfort and resolving not to let him. "We talked about it, of course. But we decided we were happy as we were."

"And then you took in Amy," Sam noted.

"She's enough to deal with," Quentin observed.

Barnabas shook his head vehemently. "Absolutely not, she's no trouble."

"Like David's no trouble!" Roger laughed abruptly.

Quentin leaned forward, speaking softly. "I know I put it tactlessly, but don't be over-gallant, Barnabas. We all know what you and Julia go through with her."

"She's a sensitive girl," Barnabas said, hoping to draw more information out of them on the subject, but they all seemed reluctant to say exactly what they meant.

"Well, she's lucky to have you," Sam said, and the others nodded their agreement.

"Elliot!" Roger exclaimed suddenly, beginning to show signs of intoxication himself. "You've hardly said a word."

Elliot smiled. "Just enjoying the company. And some very fine brandy." 

"I have a bone to pick with you, I think," Roger went on. "Or my sister does, rather, but I am the one who gets to hear about it."

"Oh?" Elliot played innocent. Now it was Barnabas' turn to take pleasure in seeing someone else on the hot seat.

"You haven't called her in days!" Roger accused, but his tone was jocular. "I hope you aren't planning on sneaking out of here tonight without saying a word to her."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Roger," Elliot said.

"Good, because I'm not too old to defend her honor if it comes to it."

"And he's not too sober to do it, either," Quentin laughed. "Oh, Roger, leave Elliot and Liz alone. You'll simply have to accept that not everyone can have the romance of the century. I believe that distinction already goes to the lovely Victoria Winters and myself."

Barnabas flinched at the mention of her name, but felt Elliot's judgmental eyes on him again, and forced himself to relax. 

"I know I'm out of the running," Sam grumbled, "but Barnabas might fight you for the title. And he has longevity on his side."

"Yes, three years – three _happy_ years," Roger mused, casting a look of mock-suspicion at Barnabas. "That could be a record for a Collins. How do you manage it?"

"Well," Barnabas smiled shyly. "You'd have to ask her. It's easy for a Collins to love; what's harder is to love a Collins."

"Hear, hear," Quentin said enthusiastically, clinking glasses with both Roger and Barnabas. Then he added, "And here's to the beautiful and patient women who try," leaning forward again to clink glasses with Barnabas alone.

Barnabas sank back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face he suddenly didn't care what Elliot, or anyone else, thought of. He took a long drink and savored the warmth that radiated through his body, a warmth from one thing and another.

The door to the room opened and shut behind him. Roger looked up and said, "Ah, Dave, I'm glad you could make it after all."

Instantly chilled, Barnabas whirled around and saw Dave Woodard walking toward them. In his utter shock, he stood suddenly, taking a step backwards.

"Hey, Barnabas," Dave said, looking at him quizzically. "Hi everyone. Thanks for inviting me."

"We didn't wait. You have catching up to do," Quentin said, handing him a drink.

"That's all right." Dave took an empty seat next to Barnabas. "You okay?"

"Yes—" Barnabas said abruptly. "I'm sorry, I've just remembered a phone call I have to make. Would you all excuse me for a few minutes?"

He left quickly, not waiting for acknowledgment from any of them. He had to get away from Dave Woodard. He shut the door behind him almost too hard, and leaned his back against it, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. 

"Is that where Amy gets it from, then?" A teasing voice, all too familiar to him, approached him from the end of the hall. 

He turned his head sharply, moved away from the door, and tried to pull himself together. This was the reason why he had come. He couldn't afford to be distracted by other ghosts from the past now. Whoever she was, he had no interest in looking like a complete fool in front of her.

"What do you mean?" He asked, he hoped coolly.

Jennifer gave him a smile that was almost a sneer, a look characteristic of the Angelique he knew. She tossed her long blonde hair off her shoulders, then gathered it all in a ponytail. She did not answer until she had arrived at his side and finished arranging her hair. A small change in hairstyle would not have stopped him from knowing her. He found he was holding his breath as she stared him down, and gasped.

She did not break eye contact for a moment, her inhumanly wide eyes flashing at him, almost jeering. "I mean, that's exactly what Amy does, when she gets nervous. What would make you so nervous?"

He looked away, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not nervous. I just wasn't feeling very well, all of a sudden."

She laughed as if it were a joke between them. "Yes, I know you can't keep up with them. Why do you try?"

If she was merely a governess, she was an awfully familiar one. He began to snap back at her, then took another tack, softening his attitude to try to get a bit of information. "Well, you've known me for—how long, now?"

She leaned in close, raising her eyebrows. "Known you, or _known_ you?" she asked slyly, her implication unmistakable.

He was shocked and confused, but before he could respond, Elizabeth joined them, clearing her throat. "Jennifer, may I speak to Barnabas for a moment? Alone?" The words were polite but there was a stinger in her voice.

"Yes, of course." Jennifer smiled ingratiatingly at them both, and left. She cast a last look over her shoulder at Barnabas that Elizabeth did not see and Barnabas tried not to.

Elizabeth scowled. "You know, if she weren't so good at her job and if the children didn't adore her, sometimes I think I'd fire her on the spot. Something about her simply rubs me the wrong way."

"Really? Why is that, do you think?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "If I'm honest, it's nothing more than a personality conflict. I can't fire her for that. She's been here long enough that I can't very well let her go without good cause."

"How long has it been?" Barnabas asked as if he were just trying to validate details he already knew.

Liz thought about it, mentally ticking back the months. "Oh… I guess it's about six months now. You like her, though, don't you, Barnabas?" She regarded him with a suspicious eye.

"Certainly, I like her. Amy likes her; that's endorsement enough for me," he said as if that were the only consideration.

"Hm. At any rate, I really did want to ask you something. Your anniversary party." When he looked back at her blankly, she threw up her hands in mild exasperation and said, "I knew Julia would forget to mention it to you – she was so preoccupied yesterday."

"No, she didn't mention it – what party?"

"Well, I was hoping you two would allow me to throw you one. She said she would discuss it with you but she thought yes, you didn't have any special plans yet. So what do you think?"

Barnabas smiled. "I think that would be lovely – when?"

"Why, on your anniversary, Barnabas! Next Tuesday!"

He laughed. "Forgive me. I've been so tired lately. We both have."

"Of course. Don't think twice about it. I know you've both been under a terrible strain." She paused, looking at him sympathetically. "How has Amy been? Has she been having the nightmares again?"

"Yes, she did last night. A bad one."

"Always this time of the month," Elizabeth reflected, wonderingly. "Anyway, I want you two to just be able to enjoy your anniversary. Leave all the planning to me. Come be with the people who love you, and forget about everything else."

"That sounds nice. Thank you, Elizabeth."

"It's my pleasure." She smiled warmly, but as her smile faded an awkward moment of silence passed between them. She looked beyond him to the door, behind which they could hear the men carrying on. "Did Elliot come with you?"

Barnabas frowned slightly, but he said merely, "Yes."

"Julia mentioned he wasn't feeling very well."

"He wasn't – but he's much better now."

"Oh. I'm glad." For a moment, she seemed hurt, and Barnabas struggled to think of something reassuring to say. But before anything occurred to him, she pulled herself up to stand straighter, lifted her chin, and said, "Well, that's all right, then."

"Elizabeth…" he began, his voice soft and kind, but she resisted, not wanting to be reassured.

She smiled and patted his arm gently. "Go on back in. Have fun."

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked away. He took a deep breath, his hand on the doorknob, and entered, once more into the fray.


	16. Chapter 16

Barnabas could not fake his way through the rest of the evening, too distracted by his brief encounter with Jennifer, by things Elizabeth had said, and by Dave Woodard, a man he had killed in cold blood, now sitting mere inches away from him. More than once Elliot had to swoop into the conversation to save him when he drifted off in thought or reacted strangely to seemingly innocuous comments.

When the party broke up, Quentin stumbled off alone, Dave insisted on driving Sam home, and Roger excused himself, expecting Barnabas and Elliot to see themselves out. In fact they stayed back to compare notes.

"What happened when you left the room earlier, Barnabas?" Elliot asked. "You came back a different person altogether. Did you meet Jennifer?"

"Yes, I did." Barnabas rubbed his eyes wearily, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands propping up his head. There were so many things he wanted to talk through now, but nothing he felt inclined to talk through with Elliot.

"And? Do you share Julia's suspicions?" Elliot pressed him.

Barnabas looked off into the distance for long moments, then said finally, "No. I don't think so."

"Really? Why? Did she say or do something that convinced you?"

"No," Barnabas shook his head slowly, still not looking Elliot in the eye. "Simply my gut instinct."

"That's what Julia is going on too, I think. I would still like to find out for myself."

"Do you think you'll have anything more concrete to go on?" Barnabas asked, peevishly.

"No. But I trust my gut," Elliot smiled. "Perhaps we will run into her again, yet. But there's one other thing I'd like to do, while we're here. I would like to get a look at the parallel time room."

"But you said you didn't think the room could have any link to our time," Barnabas objected.

"It is only prudent to rule out all possibilities."

They walked to the East Wing in silence, not wanting to attract any attention, although most of the household had retired by then, in a drunken stupor or otherwise. Once they had cleared the main hallway, Elliot asked, with deliberate casualness, "Why does Dave Woodard make you so nervous, Barnabas?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Barnabas said flatly.

"It wasn't just Jennifer. You were quite jumpy all night, every time he spoke. You never looked him in the eye."

"What interests you so about Woodard?" Barnabas tried to turn it back on him, hoping to hide the fear creeping in on him again.

Elliot shrugged. "I only ask because I never knew the man. Before he died."

Barnabas winced, he hoped not visibly, in the darkness of the less-visited corners of Collinwood. "I barely knew him, either. He died only a few months after I came to Collinsport. He wasn't a close friend to Roger or myself in our time. Nor was Sam Evans. I don't know how we all came to be drinking buddies."

Elliot was undeterred. "But you did know Woodard through Julia, didn't you? Weren't they friends?"

"Yes, I knew him, but not well," Barnabas repeated impatiently. "Julia and I were hardly what you would call close then, either."

Elliot raised his eyebrows, his eyes dancing. "And yet she was working night and day to cure you of a mysterious blood disorder."

"What are you getting at, exactly, Elliot?"

"Nothing. Merely observing."

They arrived at the East Wing door and found it locked. Elliot jiggled the knob, then tested his weight against the door. 

Barnabas said, "I don't know that it's worth breaking the lock, Elliot."

"I can help you with that. I have a key." A woman's voice announced her approach, right on cue as it had earlier that night, but in a sweeter tone now.

Elliot's eyes narrowed as he took in the figure of Jennifer moving toward them. "Do you carry it with you at all times? Or did you happen to think we might have need of it?"

"You're onto me," she smiled. "I was leaving my room and saw you two heading in this direction. I thought a key would help. What interests you so much in the East Wing at this time of night?"

"Elliot has an interest in the architecture peculiar to that wing of the house," Barnabas supplied the easy reply.

"Well, it's a mess back there, and dark. I doubt you'll be able to see much by candlelight alone," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

She opened the door and let them lead the way inside, shutting the door behind them. 

Barnabas and Elliot walked casually around the rooms, as if they had no particular destination in mind. Elliot asked, "Have you been to this wing of the house before, Jennifer?"

"Oh, a couple times to retrieve things from storage," Jennifer said, keeping a fair distance behind the two men. "Mrs. Johnson doesn't like to come up here alone."

"Do you know of anything interesting we ought to see?" Elliot approached her, and she turned in the other direction, looking absently around the room. 

"It's just heaps of old junk back here. It might be interesting for an antique dealer," she laughed.

After meandering about for a few minutes, Barnabas finally went to what he knew as the parallel time room in his own time, throwing open the double doors to find it looking much the same as he was used to. He stepped inside, and a moment later so did Elliot, then Jennifer.

"It's a shame to let such a lovely room fall into such disrepair," Elliot said, walking about the room. His eyes were taking it all in, all the while keeping Jennifer in his sight.

"I can imagine it being lovely once," Jennifer said, "but it frightens me now."

"Frightens you?" Barnabas asked, surprised. "Why?"

"Ghosts. Ghosts from the past. You feel them everywhere," she said airily, then broke out into laughter again. "Have you seen enough?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Elliot said, moving toward her at the door again. Again she turned away, and led the way out of the east wing. 

She locked the door behind them and walked with them as far as her bedroom, a few steps ahead. She stopped at her door and said, "I hope you won't be offended if I don't see you out. You know the way, and there are no formalities between us." The last remark was said with an almost imperceptible wink at Barnabas, and with that she withdrew into her room. 

They walked a safe distance away before Elliot spoke, gauging Barnabas' reaction. "A fascinating woman, Jennifer."

"Is that your complete assessment?" Barnabas threw back at him. "You said you would know it if she were a witch. Is she?"

Elliot stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I find it curious that she would not let me near her."

"But you're not sure," Barnabas concluded.

"No, I'm not sure. I wouldn't make a judgment like that lightly," Elliot said, frowning. He was not invested in either outcome, but he did not like not knowing his own mind. 

"Speaking of fascinating women, wouldn't you like to pay Elizabeth a visit before we go?" Barnabas couldn't resist the urge to needle him.

Elliot's frown deepened. "I've been trying to keep my distance from her."

"I know," Barnabas said quietly. Given Elliot's reaction, he no longer found sport in the conversation. He said earnestly, "You're hurting her by avoiding her, Elliot."

"It would be wrong to do anything else," Elliot snapped back, clearly not unaffected by it. "You will forgive me if I don't take romantic advice from you."

Barnabas stiffened, unused to Elliot's blows being quite so pointed. "Certainly."

They walked the rest of the way to the front door in silence. When Elliot spoke again, some of the hostility had dropped from his tone, but his words were no less cutting. "You have a fascinating woman of your own to go home to, and no reason to avoid her."


	17. Chapter 17

It was late when Barnabas returned to the Old House, but Julia was waiting up for him, drinking a cup of tea by the fire. He stood in the doorway for a moment watching her, weary but relieved to be home. She looked up and smiled when she became aware of his presence. "You were gone quite a while. Amy's already gone to bed." 

"How was she tonight?" he asked, crossing the room to join her. He collapsed into his chair, the night's events having taken their toll.

"She seemed fine. But it's still a full moon." Her eyes were full of concern, for Amy, and then compounded by concern for him, for the first time really seeing how terrible he looked.

Though grim, drained, his expression softened as it occurred to him, "For a moment last night, I suspected she had faked that nightmare just to see if we were really sharing the bedroom."

She smiled thinly. "Yes, I thought so, too, at first. But no child could fake that kind of terror."

"No," he agreed. "And I was speaking to Elizabeth tonight – it sounds like this happens every month with Amy."

"I wish I understood better what she goes through or how to help her." Julia sighed, clearly frustrated at her inability to do something for the girl. "I considered giving her a sedative… But I think she needs to work through it. Difficult as it may be." 

"Elizabeth also mentioned her wish to throw us an anniversary party," he said, casting a sidelong glance her way.

"Oh! I'd forgotten all about that." She gave a nervous little laugh. "Do you think we should find an excuse to get out of it?"

"I think we might as well go ahead with it – I can't see what harm it could do. And they would have agreed to it, don't you think?"

Surprised by his attitude, she regarded him through narrowed eyes. "You've changed your tune since we first got here."

"Perhaps it's time we began to consider the possibility that we may be trapped here for a long time, perhaps forever." 

"That won't happen, Barnabas," she said firmly.

"Elliot is grasping at straws. We went to the parallel time room tonight, but there's nothing there, of course. And we know what we know; what changed in this time can't be repeated. So if we're trapped here, we may as well let Elizabeth throw us a party. In any case, it will be easier to get through than it has been. Surely all the ghosts from the past must have revealed themselves by now." His mood darkened as his thoughts returned to the particular ghosts he had just met. It was so much easier to simply discuss domestic matters with Julia.

She gave him a moment to steer the conversation, sensing he was working up to something. He recrossed his legs nervously, then sat silently, studying his hands in his lap. She realized he would sooner let the subject die there. She set down her teacup and leaned toward him, asking softly, "Are you all right?"

He nodded slowly, but said, "It was a long night."

Her voice remained gentle, but she knew she would have to press him. "You did meet Jennifer, then? What did you think?"

"I'm not sure what to think, to be honest with you. When I first saw her…" He trailed off, losing his train of thought, then shook his head, disconcerted. "I certainly understand you – she could be her twin."

Julia shook her head, impatient in spite of herself, and not wanting to be humored. "But she didn't say anything to you that seemed threatening, or that alluded to a past between you, or…?"

He hesitated. "Well. She was, I will admit… flirtatious."

"I see." She looked away, stung.

He grimaced. He didn't know how to discuss this subject with Julia. "I think she's the reason Elizabeth and Carolyn are worried about there being trouble between us."

She nodded slowly as if to say _*of course.*_

"Julia…" He reached out to her with a sudden sense of desperation, then pulled back again, shaking his head. "Look at me, I want to apologize as if I were a philandering husband. We don't even know that _he_ is."

"But Jennifer acted as if you have some sort of a relationship. And Elizabeth has some cause to suspect it; her mind doesn't leap naturally to sordid conclusions." She stopped herself from going down that road. "Oh, you're right. It makes no difference if he is. I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologize," Barnabas said, an understanding smile spreading across his features. "It's hard not to get caught up in this time. All the other times we have been to, we never quite had to pretend to be ourselves."

"Yes, you're right." She was relieved that he felt the same. She forced herself to focus. "So the question that does make a difference to us is: do you believe she is Angelique or not?"

He considered it for a long moment, and finally shook his head. "Somehow, I think not." 

Disappointment and frustration flared in her again. "Why do you think so?"

"Simply an impression I had. It doesn't count as proof. But I think… If I really saw Angelique again, I would know it immediately, and without a doubt." 

Julia sighed, not willing to decide the matter on his impressions. "I didn't see anything in my records to indicate that Angelique had ever come to this time before, as Cassandra or in any other form. I think it's extremely unlikely that the Angelique of this time never would have come after this Barnabas."

He indicated with a shrug his agreement that it didn't make sense, but that nothing else did either. "For that matter, why would she have waited this long? Perhaps the Angelique of this time was destroyed before she could."

"I don't know, Barnabas. I find it hard to believe Jennifer's likeness is merely coincidental, in a band of time so like our own."

"I'll keep reading the letters tomorrow. Certainly there would be some clue, if she had ever appeared here before."

"I suppose so," she said quietly. Part of her hated those letters, couldn't stand to read them, and didn't want him to read them either, but she couldn't argue with him. She turned to look at him closely. It was a difficult question, but she had to know the answer, as far as it did impact them. "Was it hard for you? To see her?"

He looked away, frowning. "Yes. But perhaps not to see her so much as myself."

"What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"Julia… I don't want to do it again. I don't want to go around chasing ghosts for the rest of my life. I did say I loved her, my Angelique." He cringed at the endearment and revised: "The Angelique of our time. I said it, and I believed it, and then I… promptly forgot about it."

"Forgot?" She shook her head, incredulous. "You've been so moody ever since we arrived in this time…"

"I haven't been thinking of Angelique. I know, that's worse than having said it in the first place. I have been trying to face certain realities about myself… But now, today, meeting Jennifer…" He drifted off, unable to express himself. "I don't know what's wrong with me exactly."

"You asked me to save you from yourself," she said sadly.

He stared off vacantly, unable to face her. "I wish you could. I think sometimes I'm beyond saving. I was that creature for too long. I'm human now, but perhaps I can never be fully human again. I still feel things, do things, that I cannot understand and do not want to do, but I know I'm responsible." 

"Oh, Barnabas…" She reached out for his hand, but he pulled away, too consumed by his self-loathing to accept comfort.

A greater intensity gripped him as he went on, almost angrily, "But the Barnabas of this time – if he was cured before he did half the things I did, before he lost his soul entirely; if he had the love of a good woman, and had built this life and this family, perhaps he could have been saved. And if he would even _think_ about throwing it all away…"

"There's no sense in upsetting yourself about that. It has nothing to do with us," she said, trying to bring him back from that terrible place he went to.

He forced himself to breathe in and out. "There's something else, too. It's not just Angelique. Jennifer. Whoever she is." He stood and walked several steps away from her. He needed the distance. "Sam Evans was there, too. He lived. He lived, too, because things were different. And…" Breathe in. Breathe out. "Woodard was there. Dave Woodard was there."

Her eyes flew open wide in shock. Struck, she sat back in the chair, holding her head up with one hand. The memory of Dave Woodard haunted her still. "Of course. I guess I hadn't thought about it," she said simply. 

"I don't know what deed it was that rent my soul forever," he said slowly, his absolute misery bringing him a terrible sort of calm, "but it may have been the night I killed Dave Woodard. At least I can understand now how she could love him. He never forced her to…"

She couldn't stand it any longer. She went to him, made him face her, and threw her arms around him. "Barnabas, you are not soulless. You are not permanently damaged. You are not beyond redemption." She held him as tightly as she could, trying to physically transmit to him the last reassurance she could not voice.

He accepted her embrace, but had no energy left to do anything but lean on her for support, his arms falling limply about her. "There are too many ghosts here, Julia. I deal with it every day, already. It haunts me every day. But to be continually confronted by them… confronted with the knowledge that it didn't have to be that way…"

"We need to focus. Focus on getting home. Not on this time. When we get home, we can work through our own lives. You'll drive yourself mad if you measure yourself against another man's choices."

"He is another man now. But up to a point, he was me. What else can I do?"

"For a start, you can get a good night's sleep." She pulled back enough to look him in the eye and smile reassuringly.

He was not reassured. His voice barely above a whisper, he wondered, "How can you…" He could not complete the thought. "After everything I've done to you…"

She shook her head vehemently. "I told you I forgave you. You'll have to take me at my word." He looked back at her in mixed desperation and astonishment, a gaze so intense she had to break it. "We're not doing any good like this. You're exhausted. So am I. We can look at it fresh in the morning."

He relented at last, nodding wordlessly, and wordlessly he followed her as she left the room, content to let her guide the way.


	18. Chapter 18

Barnabas stopped at Amy's door, opening it slowly to check on her. He looked back at Julia and motioned silently for her to come over. Worried, Julia hurried to his side, but when she reached the door she saw that Amy was sound asleep, the book she was reading having fallen to the floor, the light by her bed still on. They watched the girl sleeping peacefully, smiling to themselves.

"Do you think she'll sleep the night through?" Barnabas asked.

"I don't know," she said truthfully, but her smile did not fade. "I hope so."

He went to put his hand on her shoulder, but before he could complete the gesture she was off, quietly walking into the room. He followed her, a step behind. Julia picked up the book off the floor while he turned off the light. She pulled the covers up to Amy's chest, lightly brushed her bangs away from her eyes, and left. Barnabas leaned down to kiss her gently on the forehead, then left as quietly as Julia had.

Continuing to the room they shared, they went through their usual nightly rituals, finding some comfort in the new normalcy they had created for themselves. They each said good night, and turned off their lights, as they had on each of the previous nights they had spent together this time. But they did not immediately turn away from one another this time, according to custom. Barnabas lay on his back, making no effort or pretense of sleep. Taking this as an invitation, Julia turned on her other side, facing him. She propped her head up on one hand. 

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said, staring at the ceiling.

"Why are you so hell-bent on tormenting yourself?" 

He turned his head toward her, his eyes imploring. "Do you think I could ever punish myself enough for all the wrong I've done?"

"Punishment won't solve anything."

"I can never make amends, either."

"Perhaps not," she said. "But even if you could, it would mean being swallowed up by the past."

He rolled over onto his side to face her directly, and despite his mood there was a playful, accusatory note in his voice. "You know, sometimes, Julia, I think you simply enjoy arguing with me. When I try to face myself, you tell me I'm not such a monster. When I try to simply be happy, you make me feel like I'm a fool. What's right?"

She smiled lightly, acknowledging some truth in what he said. "But what you call facing yourself is really wallowing, hating yourself. And what you call being happy is usually an illusion."

"I've always chased illusions," he said with a new awareness. "I didn't think I could have anything else. How can a man like me live honestly, and happily?"

In the dark, with him at his most vulnerable and receptive, she felt unusually brave. "I don't think you could live dishonestly and happily. You've come too far to think you can play the romantic hero with someone who will never know you, haven't you?"

"I'm lost, then," he murmured, his eyelids beginning to flutter. He struggled to keep them open. He didn't want to sleep now; this was important.

"Give yourself time," she said soothingly, still feeling rather brave, knowing at this point he barely understood what she said. "There are other possibilities."

He went on, speaking slowly in chopped, sleepy phrases that increasingly made less sense. "Every time I think I understand things, something changes, something terrible; something happens – to remind me – that I don't deserve…" 

He trailed off gradually, falling asleep midsentence. He had worn himself out. He did not turn away from her. She lay there beside him watching him sleep. His breathing slowed to a peaceful rhythm, but the pain never completely left his face. 

His sleep did not remain peaceful for long. She watched it happen, the terror gradually come over him and then overcome him. His features hardened; his eyes clenched shut. His breathing became ragged and eventually labored. She reached out for his hand, little expecting it to soothe him, but needing to do something; he squeezed hers back, hard, causing her to wince in pain. She did not let go. "Barnabas," she whispered gently, "Barnabas, it's all right…" His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. He began convulsing violently, he gasped as if he could not breathe; now, truly afraid for him, she sat up and gently, but forcefully, maneuvered him onto his back. "Barnabas! Wake up!" She brushed his hair away from his forehead, which was soaked with sweat. "Barnabas!" She all but screamed his name, shaking him, trying to bring him back. At last he was able to catch his breath now but each exhalation came heaving from his chest, forcing the air violently from his body. "No…." he moaned, softly at first, then repeated it louder, her attempts to quiet him having no effect. He clasped her arms in each of his strong hands, squeezing harder and harder as the tension escalated. "NOOO!!" he bellowed at last, his body going suddenly rigid, then finally relaxed. It had passed.

His eyes flew open; it took them a moment to focus, but she knew it the instant he really saw her. "It's all right," she said, stroking his cheek. He finally let go his death grip on her arms and struggled to breathe in and out deeply. 

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. 

"Don't apologize. And don't turn away from me now." With some effort, he turned toward her again and looked her in the eye. She smiled at him reassuringly. "Would it help you to talk about it?"

"No." He shook his head definitely. "It's exactly what you would imagine, anyhow." He took her hand away from his face and held it against his chest.

Not wanting to tower over him now that the worst had passed, she lay down by his side again, not moving her hand from his chest. "I wish I could help you," she said softly.

"You do help me. You have no idea." He exhaled deeply, finally regaining control over himself. "I never wanted you to see me like this… But now that it's happened, I'm glad you're here."

"How often does this happen?"

"Since the curse was lifted, almost every night. Since we came to this time, this is the first time. I think because of you."

She smiled ruefully. "That first morning… you weren't really worried that you snored."

"No." He returned her smile, as well as he could. "It's as if you have two difficult children on your hands."

"You've both been through so much, it's no wonder." 

"So have you, and you manage to keep it together."

"Not always as well as you think, perhaps," she said quietly, playing with the lapels of his pajama top. "But if you feel safe with me, then try to go back to sleep."

He looked apprehensive, but nodded. Tenderly, he reached up to touch her arm draped across his body. Paralyzed, she did not move, either to withdraw or come closer. He seemed, however, happy with things just as they were. She relaxed. He brushed her skin lightly, then folded his hands across his stomach.

She watched it happen, again, as his breathing deepened and slowed and sleep took him, a sort of peace washing over him now. That old pain did, for the moment, vanish from his face, leaving the hint of a smile behind. She watched over him until sleep came for her, too, a deep and restful sleep, each comforted in the other's presence.


	19. Chapter 19

Julia awoke later than Barnabas, which was proving to be typical, but she did not indulge in any guilt over this. Although his sleep was more troubled, he got more of it on the whole, as so much of her nights were spent sleeplessly watching over him and Amy, and worrying about dangers only she seemed to be willing to acknowledge.

She found him in the drawing room, poring over those letters that had passed between another Barnabas and another Julia again. She stood in the doorway for a moment watching him, admiring him in a way for going on with reading them, even if she believed they could bring nothing but pain. He looked up and smiled when he became aware of her presence. "I hope you got some rest finally. Amy has already gone off to Collinwood."

"I did sleep well, after all," she said, crossing the room briskly to sit opposite him. "How was Amy this morning?"

"Bright and cheerful, not a care in the world," he said, folding the letter he was reading and replacing it carefully on the stack he had drawn it from. He did so with a guilty sort of expression. 

"Perhaps the worst is over, then." She looked over at him, her eyes searching his. "And how are you?"

He shrugged. "Always better by daylight." 

She accepted this with a nod and a sympathetic smile. She understood that he didn't want to talk in any great detail about his nightmares. She changed the subject. "Any new insights? In the letters?"

"Nothing useful, but I want to keep reading." He sank back in his chair, regarding her with a serious expression. "Julia – if it's all right with you, I wish you wouldn't read them. Let me read them; I'll tell you if there's anything we need to know."

She nodded her agreement, but all the same demanded, "Why?"

He was agitated, nervous as he spoke about it. "They're too close... to what was truly going on in my own mind at that time. Naturally they are. I know you lived through it, and nothing I wrote would surprise you... and I don't wish to paper over the ugly things... but I would rather you not have to relive it."

She nodded again, smiling to reassure him that she understood. "That's kind of you, Barnabas. But you don't need to protect me from yourself. All the same, I'm happy to leave that task to you. As long as you promise me you will not let it upset you – if it does, talk it through with me."

"All right," he agreed. "I'm beginning to wonder, as I'm reading them, if we haven't been wrong about what happened, this symmetry breaking as Elliot terms it. Think about the series of events – if you had cured me, it would have been after... after Woodard."

Julia looked off into space, trying to fit together the timeline herself. No matter how cooperative he might have been, no matter how successful her treatments, there would not have been time to cure him before the night they killed Dave Woodard. "That's true. So something must have happened even earlier to stop Dave's suspicions."

"Yes, or to stop him from doing anything about them. I wonder what he did know..." Barnabas trailed off, wary of the paranoia that could creep up on him even now. He continued, taking a new tack, "The letters are mostly undated, but I can tell they followed the events in our time. I was becoming increasingly worried about what he knew, just as in our time. My words became much darker with every new mention of Dave Woodard..."

" _His_ words, Barnabas," she corrected him gently.

He acknowledged it with a slight nod. "In fact, you're right, nothing seems to have been different until after you cured me. At that point, I confessed I loved you..."

"Barnabas." She spoke his name, her tone increasingly admonishing. "Stop saying 'I.' Stop saying 'you.'"

"I'm sorry," he said, his brow furrowed. "There are gaps in the letters, of course, and for the most part they're nothing more than mad ramblings. Certainly they do not make a complete record of events. But I cannot understand what changed things with Woodard."

"The fact of the letters at all is strange, though, isn't it? They don't exist in our time. So whatever changed must have occurred even before they began."

Barnabas frowned. "Perhaps it is a single event that 'breaks' time, but other minor differences don't have the same effect, they simply set it up to happen."

"That makes sense," she mused, thinking it through. 

Barnabas shook his head. "I don't know if it makes sense or not. We're just stabbing in the dark. But I have the sense that Elliot is, too; he simply sounds more convincing when he does."

"There is a way home, Barnabas. We'll find it," she said resolutely, anticipating his next thought.

"You keep saying that, but you don't know, either. It upset me, at first, to think we might be trapped here forever. But I begin to wonder if it really would be so terrible."

She looked at him, aghast. "How can you say that? We have to live our own lives, Barnabas."

"This is close enough to our own lives that we could feel at home here, in time, if we tried. Everyone we love is here. We could take care of Amy. So much of the pain and heartbreak we have lived through never happened."

"That doesn't undo it, Barnabas," she said, gently but firmly.

"I know that. But perhaps we could take this chance to make things right, put some things the way they always should have been."

"What are you talking about?"

Barnabas shifted nervously in his seat. "Julia, if we should find we're stuck here... If we can't find a way back... Don't you think we could try?"

Her eyes narrowed, not fully understanding him but not liking the sound of it. "Try? What do you mean, try?"

Although unnerved, he forced himself to stare her down as he clarified, "Try – to be the couple we are in this time – married... in love."

She instinctively recoiled, shaking her head, leaning away from him in her chair. "You're always saying 'we.' We are not them, Barnabas. Do you really think it's that easy?"

"I'm not saying it will be easy; I'm only suggesting we try."

Her voice was solid ice when she said, simply, "Don't do this to me."

"Julia–" He looked at her with a wounded, confused expression she could not bear.

She stood suddenly and walked halfway across the room, needing not to see his face as she repeated, "Don't do this to me. You know what you're doing. You recognize it every time you do it – only after the damage is done. Please, try to think about what you're doing before you do it to me."

He stood, too, but did not dare go to her. He leaned against the mantelpiece for support. "I'm sorry, Julia. I thought–"

She laughed bitterly. "You thought I'd be very happy, didn't you? You thought I'd jump at the chance? You're still chasing illusions, Barnabas, you're still hunting ghosts." She turned to face him again, imploring him, commanding him, "Don't play that game with me."

He met her gaze with a desperate earnestness. "Do I look like I'm playing?"

She shook her head, her voice softening, now full of pity. "You never look like you're playing at the time." She walked toward him again, gesturing to the photographs on the shelf. "You see these happy pictures, you want the picture of this family, but it doesn't happen just like that. And nothing is as it seems in pictures."

"But can't we learn from their mistakes as well as ours? Can't we start over, make it right?"

She turned away from him again, pity turning to anger. "You are the single most suggestible person I've ever met! A pretty girl crosses your path and you think you're in love. You see a vision of a woman who looks just like a woman who murdered half your family making eyes at a man who looks like you and you think you're in love. Just days ago, _days_ Barnabas, Angelique was the one love of your life. The love to discount all other loves, because the thought was put into your mind that she was a sweet, sacrificing innocent. And as you admit, you've already forgotten."

"I didn't say it so you could use it against me, Julia," he snapped, hurt.

"I'm not trying to use it against you, I'm trying to get through to you." She returned to his side, knowing she had to look him in the eye and say these things, as much as it killed her. "You recognize, after the fact, what you did with Angelique, and now you are mortified by it. This is the same thing. You look at this parallel world and think it's a life you could have had – well, you could have. And you never wanted it. But now, now you want to _try_!" The bitter laugh came again, but now she saw what it did to him. He winced painfully. It broke her heart but she could not let it go. "Say we do try. Then what happens? We find our way home, and it's goodbye Julia?"

He shook his head vehemently, but his eyes were all confusion. "No – I don't know –" 

Her face softened in response. She leaned against the mantelpiece, too, all fight gone from her. "I don't need to try to love you, Barnabas. I don't want to try."

He began to protest, his hands reaching out uselessly. They fell back to his side in defeat. Drained and demoralized, he said quietly, "I don't understand."

She was prepared to lash out again, as one by one more reasons to resent this suggestion came to her. But his admission of defeat disarmed her. She shook her head sadly. It was her defeat, too. "No, you really don't understand at all, do you?"

"Couldn't you help me to?" He looked up, meeting her gaze with one last shred of hope evident in his eyes.

"If you can't see for yourself, it's no use." She held his gaze for a long moment, not challenging him exactly, not imploring him, and not expecting anything. He seemed unable to speak or move. If he was waiting for some indication from her, she could not give him any more. She held his gaze until she could no longer, until tears threatened to fall. She blinked them back furiously. "I have to go."

She walked resolutely toward the door, picking up her purse from the table in the foyer and grabbing her coat by the door. He followed behind her, helpless to do anything else. "Where are you going?"

She had only thrust one arm into its sleeve before her hand was on the doorknob, desperate to be out of the house. "I don't know. Collinwood. I'm sorry. We'll talk later." 

She didn't wait for a response before she was out of the door, closing the it hard behind her. Hoping he would not follow her, knowing he wasn't brave enough to, she stood there, leaning her back and head against the door. She looked up at the sky, as if gravity could do what she could not and hold back her tears; tears she refused to cry for his blindness and stupidity. She pulled herself together and set off on the path. A walk would do her good, and so would seeing almost anyone she might find at Collinwood, so long as it wasn't him.


	20. Chapter 20

Barnabas stood there in the foyer for he had no idea how long, helplessly watching the door she had just left through, twisting his wedding band nervously. "Not mine," he said to himself quietly, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it. "Just a prop." He replayed the conversation over in his head, wondering where he had gone so frightfully wrong, not only to make her refuse him, which he had been prepared for, but to refuse him so vehemently and so totally. She accepted all the worst parts of him seemingly with ease; how could this be the one thing that should drive her away?

Finally, not knowing what else to do with himself, he returned to his chair in the drawing room, and returned to the letters, the letters that caused him so much pain it hardly seemed worth the slim chance they could help them get back to their own time. But if that was the only thing she wanted from him, he would continue.

By this time, every letter was addressed "Julia" and signed "Barnabas," but the content was far from friendly. They were all out of order, filed by the recipient's haphazard scheme rather than the writer's, and he never knew which particular living nightmare might be dredged up by the sheet he selected next.

> You have no idea how much amusement you bring me when you reveal your jealousy over Miss Winters and Miss Evans. Your concern for their safety is laughably transparent. You would prefer I turn my attentions on you. You would like nothing more than to wake up and find yourself pinned down and helpless in your bed, my hands around your neck, ready to take your blood. You would so willingly give yourself, your every thought and deed, your body, over to me completely. You would be my easiest victim. Your loyalty is simply astonishing.
> 
> See that everyone stays quiet or your dreams will come true.

One after another his insane paranoia about Woodard, Burke Devlin, Maggie, David, Sam, Willie spilled out of his acid pen, always the same, threatening their deaths, threatening her death. He was astonishingly callous in making sport of Julia's feelings for him, much more so than he himself had ever been – he thought; he hoped. Words spoken were one thing; they could wound, but they faded into the air, at most into memory. These letters had permanence, and this Julia had kept them. She had married him months after receiving them. He shook his head, disturbed and disbelieving.

And then in turn each angry, violent letter would be followed by one soaked in regret, begging her for forgiveness and help:

> You left me five minutes ago. Each time you leave after a night like tonight, I feel certain you will never return, and I know it's all I deserve if you don't. And once you do return, I will sneer and rage at you again, disgusted that you could still want to help me, and that you are foolish enough to think you can. The hours between are the hours you never see, when I turn my rage on myself. I know myself for what I am very well, but never do I feel more like a low and dark creature as when I recognize how I have treated the one person in my life – I mean before or since this curse – who has ever offered me friendship so unconditionally and at such great cost to herself.
> 
> That other voice in my head is already raging at you, fully confident that you will return, but the self who writes this now cannot fathom that you will, yet needs you to desperately.
> 
> If I could show this better self to you, and really be that, would it be worth it to you? Why do you come back to me? If you read this now, why?

He let the page fall from his hand. There was nothing in these letters to help them, nothing but torment, torment he alternately did and did not want to put himself through. He could almost hate this Barnabas and could almost wonder himself why this Julia went on with him, except he knew full well the thoughts had been his own once, and he had wondered the same about his Julia.

He rose and walked to the desk, pulling out a blank sheet of notepaper and a pen. He addressed it with her name, then left the pen poised above the paper for several minutes, with so much to say and no idea how to begin. Finally he scrawled hastily,

"Only cowards write letters."

Angrily he ripped the paper in half twice, crumpling the pieces as he walked back to the fire and threw them on the kindling. He stood there and watched them burn, wishing the letters were his to throw the whole box of them onto the fire.


	21. Chapter 21

"Julia! What a very nice surprise," Elizabeth exclaimed, meeting her at the door. They exchanged a brief embrace, then Elizabeth pulled back and asked, "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd take a walk, and I found myself wandering in this direction," Julia said with a smile. In truth, she did feel much better after being outside for a while, but she was in no rush to return to the Old House.

"Shall I ask Mrs. Johnson to put some tea on?" Elizabeth asked. "And cookies?"

"That sounds lovely. I'll just check on Amy quickly, and then meet you in the drawing room. Are they upstairs?"

"Yes, in my study."

Julia found the three children in what she supposed was meant to be silent reading time, but as Jennifer had apparently slipped out of the room, David and Hallie were instead arguing about some television show or another. They looked up when the door opened, at first frightened that it might be Jennifer, then guilty to see that it was Julia, but she merely smiled and put a finger to her lips. Amy's back was to them all, and Julia wanted to surprise her. She motioned for them to continue their conversation, which they did, in somewhat more muted tones.

Amy's book was left open on the table, and she too appeared to be doing what she wasn't supposed to be doing, drawing something in pencil on her notepad. She was humming quietly to herself as she drew, her tongue slowly licking her lips in concentration. Julia smiled as she snuck up on the girl, but stopped in her tracks as she got close enough to hear the tune the girl hummed clearly. She gasped, the blood draining from her face. 

The noise made Amy aware of her presence. She whirled around and her face lit up. "Hi Julia!"

"Hi, sweetheart," Julia forced herself to smile again, for the girl's benefit. She sat down next to her. "I stopped by and just wanted to see how you're doing. What are you drawing?"

Amy blushed to have her artwork scrutinized, but pushed it a little closer to Julia anyhow, pointing out each figure in turn: "That's you and Barnabas, and Chris. And that's Jennifer. And me in the middle, protected by everyone who loves me. Just like you always say."

"That's right," Julia said, pulling the girl into her arms and kissing the top of her head, slightly concerned. When she pulled back, she fixed her smile on her face again. "It's very nice, Amy. Amy, where did you hear the song you were just humming?"

Amy thought about it for a moment, as if she hadn't realized she was humming at all. "Oh, everybody knows 'London Bridge'!"

"Yes, but have you heard it someplace specific, lately?"

Amy looked confused, and was about to speak when Jennifer breezed back into the room. "Children, we're going to do math next –" She hesitated for a moment when she saw Julia, then smiled broadly. "Hello, Mrs. Collins, how are you?"

"I'm well, Jennifer. I stopped by to see Elizabeth, and thought I'd come up to check on Amy." She stood and walked toward Jennifer, her tone somewhat cool. "But now I'll let you get back to your lessons."

"All right," Jennifer said brightly, as if aware of no tension between them. "Enjoy your tea."

"Bye Amy – we can walk home together later," Julia said, giving her a little wave. "Bye David, Hallie. Jennifer," she added the last as a deliberate afterthought.

When Julia returned to the drawing room, she found Elizabeth pouring the tea. "Perfect timing," Elizabeth smiled, handing her a cup. "How are the children?"

"Good – about to start math." She took a seat opposite Elizabeth, sipping her tea. She regarded Elizabeth slyly, steering the conversation to what interested her most. "I don't know how Jennifer does it, with all three of them."

Elizabeth chuckled. "She says three are no harder than one, but I know those three."

"Did she have a lot of experience, before you brought her on?" Julia wondered.

Elizabeth was slightly shocked by the question. "Julia, I gave you her references to review, don't you remember?"

Julia laughed nervously. "Oh, of course you did – I hate to admit it, I was too busy to read it. I was happy to defer to your judgment."

"My judgment is not above reproach. But yes, she did have years of experience, in good houses, everyone spoke very highly of her. You know, we tried a lot of young girls after Vicky left us, and every one was a flop. It's been good for the children to have someone a bit older, with more experience, don't you think?"

"Hm, yes, good for the children," Julia repeated absently, while trying to puzzle out how Angelique could have faked a long past as a governess. Elizabeth would have called each reference.

"You and I have had our differences with her, of course, but I keep trying to tell myself it's merely personal."

"Well, Amy likes her," Julia said, pretending civility. 

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, that's just what Barnabas said. How is Amy, by the way? Barnabas mentioned she had another of her terrible nightmares the night before last."

"She did, but last night she slept easily. And she seems to be her usual self again today."

"Good. Let's hope we make it a month without one of those attacks she has."

Julia tried to keep her surprise and confusion at that word in check. 

"Julia – I hate to ask you this," Elizabeth went on, "but have you heard from Elliot at all?"

"Yes, he did stop by the Old House yesterday before he and Barnabas came here. Why?"

Elizabeth sighed. "That's just it, he came here yesterday and he didn't even try to see me. Has he said anything to you that might...?"

"No, he hasn't," Julia said gently, "but don't think twice about it. Elliot is crazy about you."

"Were you covering for him when you said he wasn't feeling well, the other day?"

"Not at all; that's what Barnabas told me. You know how Elliot gets sometimes: he becomes so involved in his research that he forgets what day it is from time to time."

"Perhaps that's it. Oh, I'm being silly, anyhow. I suppose I just have outdated expectations. Perhaps it's not for me, seeing an academic." Elizabeth let it go at that, and changed the subject. "How are things with Barnabas? I thought perhaps you didn't like to say, with the girls around the other day. Have things really been better for the two of you, since Willie and Carolyn took Amy last weekend?"

Julia was taken aback by the question. "Oh – I think we're on the right track."

Elizabeth leaned forward, touching her companion gently on the knee in a reassuring gesture she did not know she needed. "He loves you so much, Julia. He just loses his way from time to time."

"I know," Julia said, managing a smile that would have convinced no one.

Elizabeth went on, ardently, "He'd be utterly hopeless without you. I hope you know that, too."

Before Julia could respond Hallie ran into the drawing room, a frantic look on her face. "Mrs. Collins! Mrs. Stoddard! Come quickly, please!"

"What is it, Hallie?" Julia asked. She and Elizabeth were already on their feet.

"It's Amy!" Hallie wailed, the tone in her voice telling Julia all she needed to know.

Julia pushed past the girl and tore up the stairs, barely conscious of Hallie calling after her, "She's on the couch in the study, Mrs. Collins! Jennifer is with her!"

Breathless, Julia burst into the room and found Amy lying on the bed, shivering and convulsing. She was crying and pulling at her hair as if she were in extreme agony, but she made no sound; she opened and shut her mouth uselessly. Jennifer was perched on the edge of the couch, stroking the girl's legs and making soothing noises. She looked up at Julia with a terrified expression.

"Jennifer, get my medical bag! It's on the floor in my closet," Julia ordered, rushing to Amy's side. She felt the girl's forehead: she was cold. "Amy, darling, try to catch your breath. Breathe with me, just like we did the other night." She locked eyes with Amy, breathing in and out deeply and encouraging her to do the same. She took Amy's hands in hers to keep her from clawing at herself, stroking her skin gently. "That's a good brave girl. Everything's going to be fine."

"Here you are, Mrs. Collins," Jennifer said, running back into the room and setting her bag down next to her. Julia opened it quickly, scanning the contents inside. She cursed herself for not looking at it more closely the other day; it would have given her a clue as to what Amy suffered. Among the standard medications was a supply of a solution she recognized immediately for what her counterpart had been treating Amy with. Julia prepared a syringe with sure hands, then turned back to Amy, gently brushing the hair off her face and saying soothingly, "I'm going to give you the shot now. You won't feel a thing, and then you'll feel all better." Amy nodded her understanding. Julia rolled up her sleeve, and administered the drug.

Almost immediately, Amy's pain was relieved, she breathed easier, and moments later she drifted off to sleep. It took Julia a moment more to calm herself down, but finally she turned to Jennifer, now standing against the wall and still looking horrified, and said, "Thank you for your help."

"Of course!" Jennifer said, wringing her hands. "It gets worse every time, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does, doesn't it," she said quietly, breezing out of the room again. The others were waiting in the hall, Elizabeth holding Hallie, who was still crying, and David a few feet away, nervously kicking at the floor. Julia reassured them, "She's all right now, please don't worry. Hallie, thank you for coming to get us so quickly."

Hallie nodded, biting her lip to keep from sobbing again.

She said to Elizabeth, "I'd better call Barnabas."

Elizabeth nodded gravely. "Shall I ask Mrs. Johnson to get your room ready for you?"

Julia drew a breath in sharply as suddenly the mystery of her bedroom at Collinwood began to make a terrible kind of sense to her. "Yes, please do. Thank you, Elizabeth."

\---------------------

 

Julia closed her eyes, one hand on the telephone receiver, preparing herself to tell Barnabas. She breathed in and exhaled slowly, then before she lost her nerve, picked up the phone and dialed.

He answered on the second ring, an impressive dash if he were still sitting in the drawing room. "Barnabas Collins," he said, anxiously.

"Barnabas, it's me," she said softly.

"Julia – I was hoping –" He cleared his throat nervously. "Julia, I'm sorry about earlier."

"I am, too, Barnabas. But that's not why I'm calling."

"Did something happen?" He sensed something wrong in her voice, no matter how calmly she tried to speak.

"Barnabas, I understand why she keeps a room here now."

"What's the matter?"

"Barnabas, Amy had some kind of attack. I'm not certain what caused it, but it seems to be just as regular an occurrence as the nightmares."

"And tonight is the last night of the full moon," he noted. "Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine now, there's a supply of medicine here for her, and it put her to sleep. I don't think it's wise to move her. I want to keep her here overnight, and I'm going to stay with her."

"Should I join you?" he asked, alarmed.

"No, I think it's best if you don't."

"You don't want to see me," he interpreted quietly.

"It's not that, Barnabas. There's nothing you can do for her, anyway. She'll sleep the night through."

"Isn't there something I could do for you?" he asked, almost desperately. She could picture the concerned look on his face fading into a frown, his downcast eyes studying the floor. More quietly, he spoke his realization: "I'll help you if I leave you alone."

"Just for tonight, Barnabas," she said, miserably, wishing on the other hand that he really were Amy's father and her husband and that she could take comfort in his arms.

"I understand. Thank you for calling me, Julia. Go take care of her."

"I will." The conversation came to a natural lull as it had concluded, but neither wanted to let go. "Barnabas–" she began, drifting off, not knowing what she wanted to say.

"She'll be all right, Julia. Let me know if you need anything."

"Yes, all right. Goodbye, Barnabas."

She set the receiver down again and walked back upstairs swiftly, not taking another minute to indulge her feelings. Everything had to take a backseat to Amy now.


	22. Chapter 22

Julia kept close watch over Amy all afternoon in a spare bedroom that had been established for the girl evidently for exactly this circumstance. The room, unused in her time, adjoined her own, so she felt assured she would know immediately if anything happened during the night. As to the day, although there was no change in Amy's condition and she was comfortable, sound asleep, Julia could not bear to leave her. Elizabeth cajoled, pleaded, then finally ordered her to come down for dinner; Julia finally complied but was silent all through it, unable to focus on anything but trying to understand what was wrong with Amy, and why it seemed to be associated with the full moon. After dinner, Julia excused herself hastily to return to Amy's side.

As Julia approached, the door to Amy's room opened. She saw Jennifer walking out on tiptoes, closing the door quietly behind her.

"What were you doing in there?" Julia demanded, striding toward her to confront her. 

Jennifer blinked rapidly as if shocked and hurt by Julia's tone, and exclaimed, defensively, "Why I was concerned about her, naturally! I just wanted to see how she was doing!"

Julia moved to stand between Jennifer and the door, crossing her arms. "I'd rather she not have any visitors tonight at all."

Jennifer's wounded expression turned gradually to an understanding smile. She reached out to pat Julia lightly on the arm. "I understand, of course. You've been under a terrible strain, Mrs. Collins."

"Thank you for your concern, Jennifer," Julia said, taking all the strength she had to keep from sounding outright hostile. "Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Collins," she said, a singsong lilt to her voice every time she spoke the name. With a last sympathetic glance she turned on her heel and walked away.

Julia watched, eyes narrowed in suspicion, until Jennifer had disappeared behind her own bedroom door. As soon as she was gone, Julia hurried into Amy's room and to her side. She felt her forehead and took her pulse: with relief she found there had been no change in her vital signs. She looked around and found nothing in the room had been disturbed, either. She sat back in the chair she had occupied all afternoon, watching Amy rest peacefully, but she could not bring herself to completely relax. Even if it were perfectly natural for a governess to be worried about her charge's health, she couldn't shake the feeling that Jennifer had another reason for being in this room. Was it merely her own prejudices and insecurities at play? She knew very well people could look the same and yet be altogether different in parallel time. But she could not deny her instincts about Jennifer.

"Julia." Elizabeth had stepped into the room, startling her. She said, her voice bright but firm, "Mrs. Johnson has just put a pot of coffee on. Would you join us in the drawing room?"

Julia managed a weak smile, but shook her head. "Thank you, Elizabeth, but I think I'd rather stay."

"You've made her comfortable," Elizabeth said matter-of-factly. "You know there's nothing else you can do for her now."

Julia protested, already knowing it was futile. "Yes, I know, but–"

Elizabeth crossed her arms and stood her ground. She could be just as stubborn as Julia, if need be. "I'll put it this way, then. I'm not going to take no for an answer."

Quentin poked his head in the doorway and added, "She's going to take your mind off it if it kills her. Come on, let her. Just forget the coffee; I'll pour you a brandy."

Julia sighed and made a show of great effort as she stood, but in truth she knew they were right, and she was grateful to them. "All right. I'll take you up on the brandy, and both of you on the companionship."

Elizabeth guided her out of the room with one hand around her back and Quentin clapped her on the opposite shoulder playfully, saying, "That's a good girl." Julia laughed in spite of herself. She had to admit she did need and want their comfort; she had to admit it even to herself.


	23. Chapter 23

Barnabas sat by the fire alone, staring darkly at the random patterns formed by the flames. He had set aside the letters; he could not read any more. There was nothing he could do, or wanted to do. Several times, since Julia called, he had resolved to go to Collinwood, getting as far as putting on his coat and making it to the door. But each time he backed down, feeling steadily more useless and disheartened with each retreat. 

Surely the other Barnabas would not have stayed home when Amy fell ill at Collinwood. But he was not the other Barnabas, he reminded himself as Julia would have reminded him; he could do nothing for Amy and his presence would only make it harder on Julia. He could imagine no worse punishment, but he understood the most use he could be to anyone was to sit there alone by the fire, know that he had absolutely no place in this, and simply wait for the hours to pass.

A knock at the door startled him out of his somber meditation – for one hopeful instant his eyes lit up, until he realized that if it were Julia, she would have no reason to knock. He dragged himself to the door. There was no one else he cared to see.

He was momentarily taken aback by the sight of his visitor. "Jennifer! What are you doing here?"

She inclined her head to one side, her eyebrows drawn together in pity. "I came to see how you were doing."

"I'm doing fine," he said, not stepping aside for her to enter.

She moved closer to him, despite his obvious reluctance. "I wanted to see for myself. May I?"

Barnabas hesitated, but honor forbade anything less than a half-hearted gesture and a "Please, do."

Jennifer walked into the Old House slowly, shrugging out of her jacket and looking around with interest as she spoke. "What have you been up to this evening?"

"Very little," he said, curtly but honestly, relieving her of her coat and hanging it by the door. He trailed her into the drawing room.

She stopped suddenly in the middle of the room, turning toward him, her expression of compassion deepening. "You know, every time poor Amy has one of these attacks, you're the one person they all forget about. No one thinks about what you go through, Barnabas."

Barnabas shook his head. "No one need think of me. Amy's health is all that matters."

"You still need someone to take care of you," she said softly. Her hand brushed his lightly. She only smiled when he pulled away instinctively. She understood and enjoyed the fact that she made him nervous. She turned away again and walked the rest of the way into the room, taking the seat he had, in this time and his own, long thought of as belonging to Julia. She said, "I thought perhaps I'd keep you company."

He did not move to join her. "Thank you, but I'm fine. I was just thinking of turning in for the night, before you knocked."

"That's all right," she smiled slyly.

He changed the subject abruptly. "How is Amy? Have you seen her?"

Jennifer shrugged as if it were a perfectly routine matter. "She's sleeping peacefully. She'll be fine come morning, just like always." 

"Good," he said, beginning to pace the room slowly, unable to stand still under her scrutinizing gaze. "How is Julia doing?"

Jennifer flinched at the mention of her name, but quickly recovered. "Oh, nothing ever really rattles her, does it? She's so strong, indestructible, made of steel."

"That's not true," Barnabas said, stopping in his tracks.

"You don't like it when someone else says it, is that it?" 

Her voice was still quiet and superficially kind, but behind it he detected a note of bitterness. It unnerved him, not only her tone but the implication that the Barnabas she knew had once said something similar to her in confidence. And what that confidence implied about the relationship between the two.

He rubbed his eyes between his thumb and forefinger, exhausted and not up for this verbal battle, no longer caring whether it might provide him with useful information. "Jennifer, I'm very tired, and very worried about Amy. I trust you will understand that I appreciate your offer, but I would prefer not to have company tonight."

"You've changed," she said, her eyes flashing with a hint of anger she had completely under control. "What changed you?"

He sighed heavily. "I'm completely the same, but I prefer to be alone just now. Surely you can understand that."

She eyed him suspiciously. "No, I can't, but I would like to. Was it really that weekend you spent alone together?" she said in a mocking tone. "You sent Amy away, and you were able to work out all of your problems? You had to send me away, too, Barnabas. Are you afraid it will fall apart, if you have to face me now?"

"No. You cannot change how I feel." He began to feel angry, too, at her presumption – and more angry at his counterpart if he had given her reason to presume.

"Must have been some weekend." She stood again, her arms crossed, slowly walking toward him. "You led me to believe she didn't have it in her." 

"I don't want to hear any more of this!" He raised his voice for the first time, then turned away from her, wishing he hadn't. He added, more quietly, as if it required all the strength he had left to say, "Go now, please."

His enforced calm only intensified her wrath. "Do you really think you can dismiss me so easily? I'll take it from Mrs. Stoddard as a governess, but I won't take it from you as your–"

He raised a hand to stop her from saying the word he did not want to and could not begin to believe. He interjected quickly, "If I've given you the wrong idea, Jennifer, I apologize."

"The wrong idea!" She laughed bitterly. "You didn't just give me an _idea_ , Barnabas."

He walked several steps away from her, physically rejecting what he could not intellectually deny. He said in what he hoped would be perceived as a definite tone, "Whatever had passed between us is over, Jennifer. I asked you to leave."

Her voice was cold, resolute, and equally definite. "Say it to my face and I'll believe you."

He turned to face her, his jaw set, eyes ablaze, but as soon as his eyes locked on hers they softened; he saw only those radiant ice-blue eyes of hers that bored into his, eyes that knew his eyes; eyes that looked at him only with longing, not malice, eyes that were so like his Angelique's, eyes that had looked into his through the centuries, eyes that had witnessed any amount of rejection from him and returned love, only love; eyes that offered him, even now, nothing but love. "Jennifer..." 

She smiled at him gently. "Tell me you want me to stay. You know I can take care of you."

He had to look away; her eyes held him so utterly captive. She might refuse to believe it unless he said it to her face, but he suddenly felt he would never know his own mind as long as he looked at her. "I would like you to leave," he said firmly, then turned back to her, determined to keep his resolve. "Go."

"All right, Barnabas, I'll go," she said through clenched teeth, livid. "And I won't come back again until you beg me."

She left the room quickly, head high, brushing past his shoulder as she went. He stood his ground until he heard the door slam shut behind her. Assured the confrontation was really over, he shrank into his chair by the fire, utterly drained. "Fool, damned fool," he whispered aloud angrily, for himself, for another Barnabas; it was a cross they both had to bear.


	24. Chapter 24

Elizabeth, Quentin and Roger had done an admirable job of keeping Julia's mind off Amy and her other troubles, and an even better job of stopping her remembering they were not actually her dear friends and that she did not belong in this time with them. Assured that at last Julia was feeling herself again, Elizabeth and Roger retired at a decent hour. Quentin, for his part, offered her one last drink.

"You'll get me drunk," Julia laughed, nearly feeling that way already. It was a weak protest; she leaned forward to offer him her emptied glass.

"What's the harm?" he asked, pouring her a good-sized one. "You'll simply drift right off to a deep and untroubled sleep. You could use a good night's sleep."

"You have no idea," she said emphatically, shaking her head.

"Oh, I have some idea," he said lightly. He turned serious for a moment, as if needing her to hear something, just once. "Julia, if there's anything in the world you want to talk about, if you just need to tell one living soul and know that it will end there, I hope you know I'm here for you."

Quentin was so warm and trustworthy, so like the Quentin she knew, that part of her wanted to tell him everything, or any one part of what was on her mind; he had so often been the one person she and Barnabas could rely on in their own time. To exist in this time at all, it occurred to her, mustn't he know something of the supernatural? Had he known Barnabas and Julia in a parallel band of 1897? Did he know Barnabas' secret, Chris' affliction, the threat of Angelique – all of it? She wanted to take the leap of faith it would require to really confide in him, but she said only, "I know that. Thank you, Quentin."

He accepted this, sitting back in his chair. His approach turned to sympathy instead. "How's Barnabas holding up in all this? Have you talked to him?"

"Briefly, this afternoon." She added quickly, defending him against an accusation that had not been made, "He did want to come to Collinwood – but I told him to stay home. There's nothing he can do."

Quentin nodded slowly and said, with gentle but pointed sarcasm in his voice, "And you'd prefer to suffer alone, the brave, solid rock of the family."

"Quentin!" She was surprised by him; he was no longer tiptoeing around her, as they all had been the whole night.

"I'm only saying, Julia, you fit right in with us Collinses with your stubbornness. There's a lot he could do. He could comfort you, for example. Or could he?"

"Of course he could." She made a dismissive gesture, as if it went without saying.

He raised his eyebrows to say she had just proven his point. "Why don't you let him?"

She sighed, no fight left in her on that score. "Are you a marriage counselor now?"

He shrugged, accepting her jibe, but he continued seriously, "I've seen good relationships bust up over far less. If you don't turn to each other, that's the beginning of the end."

"Oh, Quentin, you're sweet to be concerned," she said, flashing him a smile, "but I promise, it's not like that. All is well between Barnabas and me. We love each other and take care of each other just the same as we always have." It was true, as far as it went. 

He seemed to accept her reassurances. "You must get tired of all of us checking up on you all the time. I guess none of us have ever really understood the two of you."

"It's complicated. Sometimes we get confused ourselves," she added wryly.

"As long as it works for you," he laughed. "Julia, would you allow me to ask just one more indelicate question?"

"Of course," she said, doubting he could ask her anything more difficult than he already had.

"When was the last time you heard from Chris?" He frowned; clearly the thought ate at him.

Julia looked off into space vaguely, as if making a calculation. "Oh – it's been a long time..."

Quentin did not wait for a definite figure. "I'm beginning to think I should go looking for him. I can't stand to think of him out there somewhere, suffering, with no end in sight..."

It was her turn to play the realist. "What could you do for him, if you did find him?"

"I don't know. I just can't help but feel I owe him something. At least I could bring him back home. If we couldn't help him, at least, don't you think, it would help Amy?"

Julia thought about it seriously for a long moment, and said honestly, "I don't know."

"He thought he had to go away to protect her, but it seems to only cause her more pain when he's gone. Always the same time of the month, these nightmares, these attacks. Julia – could she know about Chris?"

Julia shook her head slowly, now feeling free to say aloud some of what she had reasoned out while she sat vigil at the girl's bedside. Clearly Quentin knew about Chris, at least. "Consciously, I don't think so. But she's a very sensitive girl, and even if she doesn't understand the particulars, I think it has had a serious psychological impact on her. If she's well enough, I'm going to hypnotize her tomorrow. I need to understand what she knows, too."

Quentin nodded, seemingly encouraged by the suggestion of definite action. "Good. Will you let me know?"

Before she allowed herself to think about it, she said "Yes." She needed someone in this time she could trust, at least with this.

He was clearly anxious, haunted by some measure of shared grief. "And if there's anything I can do, to help with Amy, or with Chris, please tell me. I need to do something, but I don't know what's right." 

"I will let you know," she promised. She smiled at him with genuine gratitude. "Thanks for staying up with me – and thank you for your usual directness. I appreciate Liz and Roger trying to distract me, too, but..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"Do you know, I think we two are the only realists in this whole family?" He grinned at her, then reached out to touch her nearly empty glass with his own. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers." They both drained what was left of their last drink. She stood and stretched. "I think I'll turn in now. Good night, Quentin."

"Good night, Julia. I trust you'll sleep well."

Before going to her own bedroom, Julia stopped to check on Amy one last time. She intended to stay only a minute, taking her vital signs again and finding them still stable and strong. But suddenly she felt, rather than saw or heard, something strange. She felt, suddenly, as if she were being watched. She turned around slowly, somewhat frightened although she knew of no reason to be, but she saw nothing and no one. She felt cold, as if a night breeze were moving across her skin, but there was no draft. She walked to the windows and checked the latch on each, finding all tightly secured. Shaking off the feeling, she turned back to Amy.

There, on the nightstand, she noticed something catch the light of the moon. She crossed the room again and found it was a simple hairpin. "That wasn't here before..." she murmured to herself, picking it up and turning it over in her hand. Surely she would have noticed it if it had been. Perhaps Jennifer had come back, despite their earlier confrontation. But Amy was all right. Perhaps it didn't matter. Perhaps it really had been there all along, but hadn't caught her eye before.

Julia felt that strange chill again, the strange sense of a presence near her. Nothing else looked amiss in the room. Perhaps she had allowed Quentin to pour her one drink too many. It couldn't be... but if she were being foolish, there was no one there to hear her. She called out, softly, "Sarah?"

As she suspected, nothing happened. She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "So much for being a realist," she said, as if it were a joke she could share with Amy. Assured at least that Amy would be all right, Julia left quietly, pocketing the hairpin.

She returned to her bedroom, the room that was a shell of her own room in her own time; she returned to the bed she had not slept in for months, which she had so looked forward to sleeping in only days ago. It was strange to think how quickly she had adjusted to life at the Old House, to sharing Barnabas' bed. Crawling into this bed, familiar but unfamiliar, now seemed odd, wrong. Between her exhaustion and the alcohol she should have fallen dead asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but she lay there awake for what felt like hours, staring blankly at the moon. 

It was the same view she had had for years at Collinwood, but more present to her now was the thought that it was the same view she had had for days at the Old House, and if she concentrated on the moon alone she might forget her immediate surroundings and regain the comfort of the room she shared with him; her back turned as she would have turned it to him, she might imagine he were there, silent and still and not wanting anything more from her. She imagined him present, his back to her, too, together and alone. Gradually the thought calmed and eased her into sleep because she was, after all, a realist; she would not be kept awake by other thoughts of what she could not have.


	25. Chapter 25

From upstairs, Barnabas heard the front door close and the sound of voices in the foyer. He rushed to the landing, his brow furrowed in concern, but he relaxed as he saw Julia and Amy laughing together, both evidently healthy and happy again. On that score he was reassured, but on another he remained uncertain: following his last unexpectedly difficult conversation with Julia, and after tormenting himself over it in the long hours since, he had lost some of his confidence in his place in their lives. He descended the stairs without a word, little knowing what to say.

"Barnabas!" Amy was the first to see him, rushing to meet him at the foot of the stairs. 

He knelt down and held her tightly, looking up at Julia over the girl's shoulder. He ventured a nervous smile, which she returned in kind, feeling much the same as he did. Somehow the effect of her smile, which clearly soothed him, only made her more uncomfortable. She turned away, busying herself with hanging up Amy's jacket and her own.

Barnabas pulled away and held Amy at arm's length, asking brightly, "How are you this morning, Amy?" But he could see for himself she was restored.

"Great! I missed you!" she gushed. She acted, in fact, as if she had never been ill at all.

He stood, keeping one arm on Amy's shoulder and holding her close to him. "You two didn't walk over, did you?"

Julia shook her head, looking almost guilty. "No, Elizabeth drove us, just now."

"I wish you'd called me," he said softly, hurt. "She didn't have to go to the trouble. I could have–"

"She offered. It just seemed easier," Julia said, interrupting him, keeping a wary eye on Amy. Amy seemed unaware of any tension between them, happy to be home.

Barnabas opened his mouth to respond, but also conscious of Amy, held his tongue. Amy grinned up at him and said, "Mrs. Stoddard couldn't stay, but she said to say hello and remind you about the party. The day after tomorrow!"

"Well, let's not stand by the door all day," Julia said quickly, guiding Amy in the direction of the drawing room with a gentle nudge. Amy complied, a little skip in her step. Julia began to follow her in, but Barnabas stopped her, deftly stepping in front of her.

"I wish you would let me help you," he said quietly so Amy could not hear, standing uncomfortably close.

"Barnabas..." She looked down, but did not back away from him. She did not have the words to reassure him.

"Can I pack the picnic basket?" Amy wondered, wandering back to the doorway.

"A picnic?" Barnabas asked with a forced cheerfulness for the girl's benefit.

"Yes, I thought if we all felt up to it, today would be a nice day for a picnic," Julia said, pulling herself together and affecting the same tone.

"Can we go to the beach?" Amy asked.

Julia took a few steps closer to Amy. "I don't know, sweetheart, I think it will be too cold by the water."

"But it's so sunny today!" Amy said, willing to beg. "I'll wear my coat, I promise!"

Julia turned back and exchanged a look with Barnabas in unspoken parental conference. His expression told her he would defer to her judgment.

"All right," Julia gave in, with conditions. "For a little while, and if there's no wind."

Amy clapped her hands in triumph. "And can I pack the basket? Oh, please!"

"You go get started," Julia smiled indulgently. "I'll come in to help you in a minute."

Not wasting a moment, Amy turned and ran to the kitchen. Julia sighed, her shoulder against the wall, studying the floor. Barnabas closed the distance between them again, asking, "Is she really all right?"

Julia shrugged. "When she woke up this morning she had completely recovered, and she seems to remember nothing of what happened."

"Do you know what's wrong with her? Or what causes these attacks?"

She shook her head. Her frustration at not knowing was evident. "But I'm going to find out. If she seems to be strong enough, I'm going to hypnotize her today."

"Yes, I suppose that's a good idea," he said. He watched her closely; she still would not quite look him in the eye, and it was making him increasingly anxious. He attempted to connect with her again. "It must have been terrible for you, to see her like that."

"It was difficult," she said softly, staring off into the room, caught up in her own thoughts and feelings she could not share with him. Suddenly she looked up at him sharply, as if startled by a new realization. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she'd come home. "It was difficult for you, too."

"Yes, I..." His eyes searched hers, now that he had their attention. He wanted desperately to say the right thing, after tripping over everything he had tried to say the day before. "I care a great deal about Amy." 

She looked away again, uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze and his physical proximity. "Well, the worst has passed, now. I think we should try to give her a fun and relaxing day, and later perhaps we can try to get to the bottom of this."

He nodded, backing off a bit in response to her change in attitude. Sensing this in turn, she looked up at him again, almost apologetically. "Barnabas, there's a lot we need to catch up on, but perhaps I'd better check on Amy–"

"Yes, of course," he said, stepping aside.

She flashed him a quick smile, and walked out of the room without a backward glance. He watched her go, feeling little better about everything, but no worse than he supposed he deserved.


	26. Chapter 26

They passed a pleasant afternoon lounging on blankets on another unseasonably warm day, the sun heating the sand and no wind carrying across the water to chill them. They laughed and played card games and ate the lunch Amy had prepared, consisting of peanut butter sandwiches, cookies, and marshmallows. Able to focus most of their attention on Amy, and to forget momentarily about everything else that troubled them, Julia and Barnabas gradually relaxed in one another's company again, and silently agreed to put yesterday's events behind them. And so it was that she could enjoy with unrestrained mirth the sight of him eating his first marshmallow, first the slight surprise at its texture and flavor, and then mild disgust as he attempted to chew it. He nearly choked on it as he saw her reaction, embarrassed but able to laugh at himself. Amy thought nothing of it, apparently accustomed to witnessing these moments pass between the two of them that she was not entirely meant to understand.

"Can we take a walk by the edge of the water?" Amy asked as they wrapped up a game of rummy, still full of energy.

Julia and Barnabas exchanged wry glances. Neither had slept well the night before. They both were lying on one side, their heads propped up by the palm of one hand, more likely to fall to the ground altogether than bound off for a stroll. "Perhaps in a little while," Julia said, pulling herself to a sitting position with great effort. Reaching for her bag, she shot Barnabas another significant look, which he understood, nodding his agreement.

Amy sighed, popping another marshmallow in her mouth. A glint of light caught her eye, as the sunlight reflected off the object Julia pulled from her purse. "What's that?" Amy asked.

"Oh, haven't I ever shown this to you?" Julia asked, turning the medallion over in her hands. Its mirrored and jeweled surface created a prism effect. "It's an old family heirloom."

"It's so pretty," Amy said, fascinated. "Can I look at it?"

Julia held it up by its chain, close to the girl's face. "Look at it very closely. Do you see all the colors? Do you see the lights?"

"Yes..." Amy said in deep concentration, her high spirits already ebbing, her eyes beginning to glaze over.

"Try to find the center. Look deeper, and find the center," Julia said, relaxing the girl further with her soothing, droning voice, twirling the medallion this way and that. "Can you see the center of the light?"

Amy studied it raptly. Julia could tell she was under by the look in her eye, but she waited for confirmation.

"Look deeper and deeper until you find the center," Julia repeated.

"Yes," Amy said slowly, "yes, I see the center."

"Good, Amy." Julia glanced at Barnabas to ensure he had no concerns about her proceeding. He was looking at her with something like pure admiration. She smiled slightly, then turned back to Amy. "Amy, I want you to tell me what you associate with the full moon."

Amy's eyes, though half-closed, looked confused. "I don't understand."

"If I told you tonight was going to be a full moon, how would you feel?"

Amy shivered, even as the sun beat on her skin. "I'm scared."

"Don't be scared, Amy. I'm here with you. I will be with you the whole night. What frightens you about the full moon?"

"I–I don't know," Amy's voice broke, becoming agitated.

"You're in bed with me and Barnabas, you're perfectly safe. But you're still scared. Why, Amy?"

"Something terrible is going to happen!" she yelled suddenly.

Barnabas sat up quickly, worried for her. Julia held out a hand to stop him from speaking or reaching out to Amy. He relented, sitting back again at Julia's side.

"Do you know what is going to happen?" Julia asked, keeping her voice calm and steady.

"I don't know, I don't know." Amy's voice was near a whimper.

"We're here with you and we're holding onto you and nothing can hurt you. Are you still afraid?"

"Yes!" She yelled again. "You can't protect him."

"Do you mean Chris, Amy?" Julia pressed on gently.

"Yes," Amy whispered. "He's dying."

"What is happening to Chris, Amy? Why do you think he's dying?"

"Julia–" Barnabas whispered, terrified for Amy's sake.

Julia held out her hand again to silence him, more forcefully this time, and shook her head. He could not speak. A sob escaped Amy's lips. She tried to hold back her tears.

Julia turned back to Amy. "What made you think something bad would happen to your brother during the full moon?"

"She told me," Amy whispered.

Julia looked at Barnabas to study his reaction as she asked, "Who told you?" Barnabas continued to look back and forth between Amy and Julia, worried and helpless.

"I can't tell." Amy was perfectly calm now. Eerily calm.

"You can tell me, Amy. You can tell me anything."

"No, I can't tell, I promised I would never tell," Amy said vehemently.

Julia frowned. She would have to take another tack. "Amy, I want you to go back to the first time you met Jennifer. Can you remember that day?"

"Yes," Amy nodded vigorously, smiling now.

"Good. What are you doing, just before you meet her?"

"I'm at Collinwood. It's late, and it's raining. I'm playing a game with David. You let me stay up to meet her." 

Amy spoke now as if merely reciting facts, with no emotion whatsoever. Julia attempted to walk her through the evening, step by step.

"How do you feel, while you're waiting to meet her?"

"I'm excited, but I'm nervous. I can't concentrate on our game. David beats me because I'm distracted."

"What happens when Miss Jennifer arrives?"

"You and Mrs. Stoddard bring her in to meet us. I'm feeling shy. David laughs at me and Mrs. Stoddard tells him to be nice."

"Then what happens?"

"You leave her alone with us. She sits down next to me and joins our game. She says it will be girls against boys."

"What are you talking about with her?"

"Nothing. We're just playing the game. She's stroking my hair and I feel better. She's stroking my hair the way you do."

"Let's move forward. Are you alone with Jennifer at any time, later that night?"

"Yes. David goes to the bathroom and leaves me alone with her."

"How do you feel then?"

"I'm happy. She's still playing with my hair."

"What is she saying to you?"

"She says I'm very pretty and she's glad she is my governess. I tell her I think she's beautiful and she laughs at me. She has beautiful eyes."

"Does anything else happen while you're alone with her?"

"I don't remember." Amy seemed to think about it, and added, "No."

"What's happening now?"

"I can hear you and Mrs. Stoddard talking in the hall. You're coming back. Miss Jennifer stands to meet you. She has a funny toy that falls out of her pocket."

Both Barnabas and Julia's eyebrows went up at this. Julia continued, "What is the toy?"

Amy shook her head in confusion. "I try to pick it up for her. She grabs it. I'm afraid I've made her mad at me."

"What does she say to you?"

"She's not mad. She says it was a special gift from a friend and it's very fragile. She says she will show me how it works one day."

"What does it look like?"

"She put it back in her pocket. You and Mrs. Stoddard are here now." 

"Amy, what did the toy look like?"

Amy seemed distracted, having a hard time turning her memory back to it. "It's a little ball, shiny..."

"Is it made of metal, or glass?"

"You're here now. I'm happy to see you."

"Amy, let's go back to the ball Miss Jennifer put in her pocket."

"You tell me it's time to go home now. Barnabas is waiting for us downstairs."

Julia shook her head, not believing the resistance Amy was putting up. "Amy, I want to ask you to tell me one last thing. I want you to tell me about your friends, your playmates. Who do you play with?"

"David, mostly. He's closest to me in age. But he doesn't always play nice."

"Who else, besides David?"

"Hallie is nicer to me, but all she thinks about is boys."

"And who else, Amy?"

"I don't have any other friends outside of Collinwood."

"Don't you see any other children, here at Collinwood?"

"No..."

Julia looked to Barnabas nervously. She had said nothing to him to prepare him for this line of questioning, but she could do nothing now but plunge ahead. "Amy, where have you heard the song 'London Bridge' recently?"

Barnabas' eyes went wide, instantly making the connection. Julia looked at him apologetically, then turned back to Amy. "Yesterday, you were humming 'London Bridge.' Did you hear it somewhere?"

"Yes," Amy said, but did not elaborate.

"Where did you hear it, Amy?"

"I can't tell. It's our secret." Amy shook her head resolutely.

"Amy, you can tell me. I want to help you. You can tell me anything."

"I want to tell you. But it will be worse if I tell you."

"What will be worse, Amy?"

Amy was beginning to become agitated again. She began to breathe heavily, and there was a quiver in her lip. 

Julia asked quickly, sensing she wouldn't be able to keep Amy calm under hypnosis much longer. "Amy, please tell me. I promise, I can help you if you tell me. What are you afraid will be worse?"

"No! It won't work if I tell! I need it to work!" Amy yelled, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks.

Barnabas gripped Julia's wrist tightly, afraid to speak but unable to sit still and watch this any longer.

Julia sighed in frustration. She knew she would not get any more out of Amy today. "You're all right, Amy. I'm going to bring you back to me and Barnabas, where you are happy and safe."

Amy began to breathe more easily. She nodded and stopped crying. Julia reached out to brush the tears off each of her cheeks.

"When I snap my fingers, you will come back to the present, and you will not be afraid of the full moon any longer. You will not have any more nightmares, and you will not have any more attacks like last night." 

Julia snapped her fingers, and Amy's eyes flew open. For a moment, she appeared disoriented, and then she grinned broadly, forgetting everything that had happened since Julia put her under.

She looked to Julia and Barnabas in turn and asked, "Now can we take a walk?"


	27. Chapter 27

It was nearly sunset as Julia, Barnabas, and Amy took their walk by the beach, Amy skipping a zigzag path to trace the tip of the waves as they broke and receded; Barnabas and Julia staying several paces behind and up the beach from her. Occasionally Amy looked back to check that they were still close, and they waved and smiled at her. Meanwhile, it allowed them time for a quick conference.

Barnabas asked quietly, "Do you really think that will work, to stop her nightmares?"

Julia shook her head sadly. "Honestly, no. I'm sure the Julia of this time would have tried the same technique. But it was worth a shot. No, whatever it is that's causing her attacks, it's very deeply rooted. There's no way she could have resisted my questioning the way she did if she weren't under the influence of some other power, stronger than mine."

He frowned, little expecting, but deeply wishing it could be that easy. "So you think someone or something else is influencing her?"

"I'm certain of it," she said, her tone of voice conveying no doubt, either. "I'm certain of who, too."

Barnabas went silent for a moment, not wanting to pick another fight when their reconciliation was so fresh and fragile. 

Julia called out to Amy with a note of sternness in her voice, "Careful you don't get your shoes wet!" But when she turned back to Barnabas, she laughed lightly at the sight of Amy so carefree and happy.

He shared her laughter, then became serious again, his eyes focused on Amy. "Julia, why did you bring up Sarah?"

Julia bit her lip, wary of upsetting him and watching his reaction closely. "Yesterday, less than an hour before she had the attack, I heard her humming 'London Bridge.' I'm sure I'm grasping at straws, but I had to rule out the possibility."

Despite her best attempts at setting his expectations low, he could not help but become excited. "That couldn't simply be a coincidence!"

"Of course it could. As she told me herself, everybody knows 'London Bridge.'"

He sighed, suddenly as intensely disappointed as he had been elated. "Perhaps I just want to believe it. Even in another time, I would give anything to see her again."

"I know, Barnabas."

"She told me she would never appear to me again because I was a bad man. Perhaps in this time, he has changed enough that she does visit him."

"It's possible, but I really don't have any reason to suspect it," Julia said gently, trying to let him down easy.

He nodded, but he could not hide his regret and sorrow from her.

Both attempted to brighten up as they saw Amy running back toward them, pointing a ways up the beach. "The ice cream stand is open! Can we go?"

"That sounds like a fine way to end the day," Barnabas grinned down at her, then assumed the same pleading tone to Julia: "Can we?"

Julia laughed and took Amy's hand, maneuvering the girl between the two of them. Barnabas took her other hand. "I think our whole picnic was dessert, but why not?"

As they walked on, Julia looked over the top of Amy's head at Barnabas, affirming her support. He accepted this with a grateful nod. He then looked down at Amy and back to Julia with a smile, even if a heartbroken smile, as if to say that this, this was comfort and consolation enough.

\---------------------

 

They finished the last of their ice cream cones as the sun went down, sitting on two benches opposite one another, Julia and Amy on one, and Barnabas across from them. Julia asked, "Did you have a fun time today, Amy?"

"Oh, yes!" Amy enthused.

Barnabas stretched his legs out in front of him, observing, "It turned out to be a lovely day."

A sudden seriousness came over Amy, as it often did. "I just wish..."

"What, sweetheart?" Julia asked in a warm tone, meant to make the girl feel comfortable expressing herself.

Amy looked down into her lap, little more than muttering, "I wish we were a real family."

"Oh, Amy..." Julia reached out to wrap one arm around the girl. "Of course we're a real family." She looked over at Barnabas for support, an imploring glance Amy did not see.

Barnabas leaned forward, encouraging Amy to look at him. "You know, Amy, your real family is all the people who love you. Being related by blood doesn't guarantee a happy family."

Amy wasn't reassured. "I know, but..."

"Are you worried about something, Amy?" Julia asked, squeezing her shoulder gently.

Amy seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I don't want anything to happen to... take you away..."

"Nothing ever will, Amy." Barnabas' voice conveyed certainty and absoluteness, even if it was a promise he could not make.

Amy took a deep breath and asked, quickly, as if she'd never work up the courage unless she blurted it out all at once: "Can I call you Mom and Dad?"

Momentarily speechless, Julia held Amy tighter and kissed the top of her head. She looked over at Barnabas again and saw him similarly at a loss for words. She smiled at him sadly. Amy was looking up at him hopefully, vulnerable. Barnabas looked from one to another, increasingly perplexed, and trying hard to hide it. Julia said, softly, "Of course you can, sweetheart." She looked away, over the top of Amy's head, closing her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

Barnabas moved to kneel down in front of Amy, taking both of her hands in his own. "You know I think of you as a daughter. I always have."

Amy's face lit up in relief and joy with that affirmation from both of them. Just as overwhelmed by the moment as Julia was, Barnabas moved to sit on the bench and embrace Amy from the other side, his hand inadvertently grazing Julia's back as he reached behind Amy. He flinched, then allowed his hand to rest there. Julia looked up, taken aback, her chin resting on Amy's head again. Their eyes locked on one another's for a moment, their faces inches apart. Julia flashed him the same sad smile again, then looked away.

"Well, it's getting late," Julia said finally, pulling away from them both. "I think we had better head home."

"Okay, Mom!" Amy said, gleefully testing the waters.

Seeing the complex array of emotions involuntarily playing out on her face in response, Barnabas gave Julia a moment to collect herself, rising and playfully pulling Amy up with him. He pointed out the stars that had begun to appear as they started to walk slowly back down the beach. With great effort Julia would win the war against the tears now brimming at her eyes, tears that could not even decide what they were fighting for: were they tears of longing? or tears of happiness for what she had? Real family. If only it were so simple.


	28. Chapter 28

That night, Barnabas allowed Julia a few minutes to change into her bedclothes before joining her in their bedroom. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed, his side, staring vaguely into space, lost in thought.

"Are you all right?" He asked quietly, trying not to startle her. She didn't seem to have noticed him enter.

"Yes, I'm fine." She looked up at him. Her face had not lost that air of sadness since Amy first brought up the subject of family. "It was almost too much when she said 'Goodnight, Mom,' but I'm fine now."

He crossed the room briskly to sit on the bed beside her, his eyes full of concern. "That was unexpected," he ventured, not quite sure what to say, but trying at least to convey that he understood her.

"That should have been a moment for the other Barnabas and Julia to treasure," she shook her head, becoming emotional again in spite of her attempts to control it. "It will be awful for them to come home and find they missed it. But what else could we say? 'Ask us again in a week?'"

"Do you think it could be as little as a week?" His question was skeptical, but his voice held nothing but kindness.

"I just hope so, Barnabas," she whispered, almost ominously. "I can't take much more of this."

"You're not only upset for the other Barnabas and Julia," he observed. "You wish it were real."

She turned away almost angrily, but angry at herself and her feelings, as if he would not know them if he could not see her face.

He said softly, "I wish it were real, too, Julia."

"It's another fantasy," she snapped, rising to her feet and walking halfway across the room. 

He made no effort to stop her, frowning down at his hands in his lap. "But it's becoming real," he insisted quietly, against his better judgment.

"What does that mean?" She whirled around to face him, her face alight with anger again, anger that steadily faded as she saw that he was as hurt and confused as she was.

He spread his hands wide before him, palms up, a gesture of helplessness. "How can it not? We began by saying we wouldn't become involved in the lives of the people here, that we wouldn't do anything to alter the lives of the other Barnabas and Julia when they return, but how can we avoid it? We try to act as we think they would act, but still, Julia, it is us making the decisions, and we can't pretend it doesn't affect us, too. We _are_ involved. And it's changing us, too."

Julia hugged her arms about herself. "You're right. I know you're right. Even Elliot's policy of inaction is changing things. Elizabeth is about to end their relationship. He's hurt her terribly, I think."

Barnabas nodded. "And I have begun to make a number of decisions that I know are not mine to make." 

Julia sighed, giving up her anger altogether. She walked back to the bed to sit next to Barnabas again, somewhat closer this time. "Such as?"

He looked at her warily. "Jennifer came here last night."

"Oh," was all she said, raising her eyebrows in understanding.

"I don't think there's any way for me to explain her words and actions except to conclude that they were having an affair."

Clearly this upset her, but Julia attempted to turn it into a joke. "Now you can say 'they,'" she said lightly.

He responded in grave seriousness. "Because I would never. And I told her it was over."

"You did?" Julia looked up, studying him, surprised.

"I know it wasn't my place to, but the thought of it is so repellent to me... I won't act as he would act, if it means that."

Julia tried to suppress the smile his vehemence inspired, standing again and walking around the bed to her side. She returned with the journal from her bedside table, and removed the letter tucked between pages she had found the other day. She handed it to Barnabas, saying, "Perhaps you did act as he would have."

Barnabas read it through and said, little reassured, "That's what he means by 'problems.' He means Jennifer."

"If he does, it sounds like he wants to put it behind him, doesn't it?"

He looked at her deeply, needing to know. "Would you ever forgive him?"

Julia thought about it for a long time, staring straight through him as she did. Finally she said, "I would forgive him. But that would be the end."

He nodded slowly, looking away. "Then I worry for Amy."

"We don't know the whole story, Barnabas. And perhaps she would feel differently. We're not the same person."

Barnabas' face darkened, deaf to her reassurances. Something else was on his mind. "Can I be honest with you, Julia? Even if I know it will hurt you?"

"I want your honesty, Barnabas, more than anything else." This much was true; but plainly it worried her, too.

He could not look at her as he spoke, agitated, working through it as he went. "I think you were right, yesterday, in what you said. I am doing it again. I can't seem to help myself. For a moment, when I was talking to Jennifer, the old feelings I thought I had for Angelique, or new ones for her, I don't know... Even as I was standing there, hating her, hating to think that he could be having an affair with her, for one moment I almost felt... drawn to her... What's wrong with me? I feel so lost, sometimes; damaged beyond repair. It terrifies me. I don't want to do it."

It did hurt her, but she looked at him with pity, not anger. "Is that why you asked me if we could try? Just because you wouldn't be afraid, with me?"

"I don't know," he said miserably. "I don't know why I do this. I'm so sorry about yesterday, Julia."

"It's all right, Barnabas." There was that sad smile again, the one he only half-understood, the one that cut him in two.

"I am relieved if it is, but I still wanted to say to you – I understand why what I said upset you. And I apologize. I will not make such a mistake again."

Julia's eyebrows drew together slightly; it was not quite what she wanted to hear. But she said, "I think I may have overreacted. I'm sorry, too."

"Can we put it behind us?" he asked, still looking anxious.

"Yes, of course. I think we already have." Then Julia said, abruptly changing, or returning to, the subject, "Speaking of making decisions we probably should not, I'm as guilty as you are. Last night, I was talking to Quentin. We had a few drinks, and it felt so good to confide in someone. I told him I planned to hypnotize Amy today. And I promised to tell him if I learned anything."

"Why involve him?" Barnabas asked nervously.

"He's worried about Chris, he feels guilty. He was talking like he was ready to take off and search for him at any moment. It seemed to placate him for the moment. I don't have to tell him anything – in fact, there's very little to tell. But perhaps it could be useful to have an ally in this time, Barnabas. And Quentin always has been a good ally."

"But as you keep reminding me, he's not our Quentin. We don't know who we can trust here. If they never involved him before..."

She nodded. "Maybe I shouldn't have done it. You see, I can't seem to stop myself either, acting as I would have done, not the way she would have. It's getting harder to tell. Maybe you're right. Maybe it is becoming real for us. That's what scares me."

"Why?" He reached out but stopped short of touching her, his hands dropping to the bed beside her.

"We have to live our own lives, Barnabas. We can't allow ourselves to get caught up in lives that aren't our own." She was slightly frustrated, more at how increasingly empty the argument felt than at the need to repeat it to him again.

"It's still us, Julia," he said softly. "Everything around us can change, but when it's just you and me, it's still us."

She might have turned away, refused to acknowledge another of his little fancies, but she had to look him in the eye, see for herself that it was not a fancy. She studied him as he watched her with a calm, steady, earnest gaze. It was not a fancy; he meant it; but what exactly did he mean when he said these things? She realized suddenly she was holding her breath, as if the two activities at once were too much for her to manage.

He continued to gaze at her, a sense of peace in his eyes. "Perhaps _that's_ why I'm not afraid, with you. Is that so terrible?"

"No," she said hoarsely, as if the one word took great effort to produce. Suddenly she was afraid with him, but stood her ground. He was so close now, and she trusted him completely in spite of it all.

But he simply said, "You look tired."

"I am." She smiled weakly, and felt it all at once. 

"So am I. I think I'll go change for bed." He rose and walked away quickly, disappearing into the master bathroom.

Julia sighed and walked to the window. She had been through this with Barnabas too many times to be disappointed, strictly speaking. She looked up at the moon: it was waning at last. Amy would sleep soundly; with any luck, they all would. Chris might too, wherever he was. With this hopeful thought, she turned to her own side of the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of Barnabas reentering the room in his dressing gown. She began to turn down the bed.

He said, as he joined her on the other side, helping her roll back the coverlet, "I didn't sleep very well without you, last night."

She looked up sharply, not expecting him to think, let alone say such a thing. Guardedly, but still open to meeting him halfway, she said, "Neither did I."

"I've gotten used to you, in this short time." He got into bed, and looked up at her a bit strangely when she continued to stand there, perplexed. Noticing his expression, she followed him into bed, her back rigid against the headboard. He went on, "You might be surprised to learn this, but I've never shared a bed with a woman the night through before."

She could not mask her incredulous reaction, but at least managed to suppress the laughter she was inclined toward. 

"It's true," he asserted, slightly embarrassed. "I won't deny I had my share of... encounters as a young man, but always very..." he gestured vaguely, not wanting to complete the sentence, but finally landing at: "efficient."

She tried, for the sake of his pride, to keep her tone light and nonjudgmental. "Even with Angelique?"

He winced. But he had invited that question. "It was no different with her."

"But you were married to her!" she couldn't help but exclaim.

Barnabas nervously played with the edge of the covers. "We kept separate bedrooms. I tried, but – I didn't make her a very good husband. I felt terribly about it at the time, before I realized what she was."

"Why are you telling me all this, Barnabas?" Julia asked gently.

"I just wanted you to know that it turns out it's... nice. It's a great comfort, in fact. Last night was miserable alone. I couldn't sleep for hours. But I suppose I was simply feeling sorry for myself."

"No – I felt the same way. It is comforting. I can't say this was my first time, but it has been a while." She watched for his reaction and was satisfied to see his eyebrows go up, ever so slightly. As his expression gradually hardened into a more serious one, it occurred to her, "Did you have another nightmare last night?"

He shuddered at the memory of it. "Once I finally got to sleep, yes, I did. They're much worse when you're not here with me."

"I'm sorry, Barnabas. But it's just your mind's way of dealing with all the trauma you've been through."

"And caused." Seeing her about to protest, he raised one hand to signal a retraction of the remark. "That's one of the terrible side-effects of being human again. There are moments when I wonder if it's worth it. Before, you had my condition under control, and I didn't dream at all."

"Oh, don't say that, Barnabas."

"They're only moments, when I think that. They pass." He looked over at her and attempted a reassuring smile. "You once asked me if I could live with human guilt again. I thought it was bad enough as a vampire. But before, I was busy with one crisis after another. I've had time to think about it here, I suppose."

"It's a good sign, honestly, Barnabas. It will take time for you to work through it all."

He nodded, attempting a brave smile."I'll try to learn to look at it that way. Meanwhile, that's my long-winded way of saying, I'm glad you're back. And – don't give up on me."

"Never," she said fiercely.

"Good," he said, appearing to believe what he already knew. "Well – goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Barnabas."

They each turned off their bedside lamps and settled themselves under the covers. Julia turned on her side facing the window, her back to him, as she had wanted to the night before, now no more secure in anything but that he was there with her. It was security enough; she fell asleep quickly. She was not aware that he had chosen to face the window, too, and not turn away from her as they had unconsciously agreed to from the first night. It was clear, suddenly, why the Barnabas of this time had chosen this side of the bed: from there he could enjoy the sight of the sunrise in the morning, and her bathed in it. He held sleep at bay longer than she did, not because he was afraid now, but because the edge of sleep felt so fine. Moonlight suited her, too. He watched her with a simple, calm sort of contentment, until the rhythmic sight and sound of her breathing lulled him into sleep himself, an untroubled sleep that brought dreams that were far from nightmares.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your first smutty chapter. If you prefer to skip it, you won't really be missing anything essential to the story, although perhaps it gives an insight or two into what goes on in Barnabas' addled mind. :) 
> 
> I did not set out to write this chapter. But all of a drunk evening, that "dreams that were far from nightmares" line came to me, and then I was like "Heyyyyyy guys, would anyone enjoy an impromptu smutty chapter?" and well, consensus was yes.
> 
> Oh and, it's as long as 2-3 regular chapters. I originally posted it in three parts. I guess once I get going smut is the easiest thing in the world to write. I used to be shy!

Barnabas awoke with a start, disoriented for a brief moment. No matter how many times he awoke in this parallel time, he was always disturbed for a moment by something that seemed… just wrong. A moment later his conscious mind would catch up with him and he would remember where he was, and relax. He could never quite say what it was that seemed wrong, when he thought about it. Aside from the few lamps placed around the room, it was not much changed from his room in his own time. It appeared that the Julia of this time had claimed a few important victories, and left the petty ones largely to him. It must have been something quite small and insignificant that made him aware of the difference, for that quick, unthinking moment upon awakening: something as silly as a slight difference in the way his Julia tied back the draperies. His Julia was there in bed with him, obviously that was different; but that couldn’t have been what startled him. Something about that seemed… just right.

He looked around and got his bearings. It was the middle of the night. Only a slim shaft of moonlight illuminated the room. His eyes followed the light to where it ended, bathing Julia’s already porcelain skin in almost an otherworldly glow. She had been wearing more flattering, sleeveless nightgowns in this time, and he would be lying if he said he had not noticed. Then again, he would be lying if he said the few times he had seen her in the more dowdy garments she favored in their own time he had not felt strangely uncomfortable, nervous… intrigued? He had not understood those feelings. He had pushed them aside. But he was beginning to understand them, now, gazing at her bare shoulders, and the arm that fell gracefully across her body. He was beginning to understand, and becoming less able to ignore them.

Less interested in ignoring them, come to that. Whatever had awakened him no longer mattered. He was undeniably interested… fascinated… excited by no one and nothing else but this beautiful woman mere inches away from him. As she had always been – so close he could reach out and touch her, but he had not. It was merely more literal, to have her in bed beside him. He was a literal man. Sometimes, he had to be beat over the head with something to realize it. But he was able to make the connection now… she had always been there, he could, at any moment, have reached out, taken her in his arms – and then what? What would she do? What would he? Perhaps it was time to finally find out…

He reached out, his fingertips lightly grazing the shoulder that so captivated his interest. She did not stir; he felt uncomfortable, touching her without her knowledge. It would be better to, with some pretense, deliberately wake her; perhaps he should talk to her about his feelings… But he had tried talk. Talk never seemed to get him anywhere but in trouble. Guiltily, at first, then more boldly, he traced a line with his fingers down her arm as far as he could reach without moving closer, then back up her arm, across her shoulder, up her neck. She shrugged away, apparently ticklish, rolling over to face the mattress. With the same light touch, still not daring to move any closer, he touched the area of her back that had just been revealed to him. He traced the outline of her nightgown, then traveled lower, making slow figure-eights up and down her back through the fabric.

She twitched slightly under his touch; he could feel her breathing change as he continued to touch her. The sounds he had come to know as hers in sleep gave way finally to a light, throaty laugh. The next moment, he felt her body go rigid. He knew, before she did anything, that she must be awake. He tensed, too, keeping his hand still where it rested, in the dip of her side just above the curve of her hip.  
Slowly, she turned her head to face him, still lying on her stomach. He was startled by the look in her eyes and withdrew his hand instinctively, but realized a moment later that she was merely surprised, and not angry. He saw confusion in her eyes. Was she wondering if she had only dreamed it?

It was challenge enough to reach out to her while she slept. Doing it again, even indicating his desire to do it again, while she was fully aware and confronting him with those unusually beautiful, exceptionally beautiful eyes… vulnerable eyes… that he knew could so easily flash with anger if he did the wrong thing… He was paralyzed under their gaze.

“Barnabas?” She was unsure of what had happened. Her voice was still heavy with sleep. 

“Julia…” He was helpless, frozen, physically and mentally incapable of saying what he felt, or what he wanted.

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. Surely his staring spoke for itself as he took in the graceful lines of her frame from another angle, as he noticed, then quickly pretended not to have noticed, that her change in position had pulled the fabric of her nightgown lower, revealing more of her soft, pale skin than she had perhaps intended for him to see. 

“You have something you want to tell me.” She was suddenly so direct it unnerved him. 

He choked on his words again, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“You can’t have what you can’t even ask for.” She almost seemed to be taunting him.

With the effort of moving a great weight, he reached out to touch her elbow lightly. He felt like he had to spit rocks from his mouth before he could speak. “Julia…” he said slowly. He may as well have been underwater. “Julia, I want…”

“You can tell me, Barnabas. You can tell me anything.” Her tone softened; this was more like the patient friend he had come to rely on so utterly. She reached out to stroke his cheek gently. The intimacy of the gesture was not so usual, but he felt as if it had given him back his power of speech. And had given him back the use and awareness of his body.

“You,” he said, darkly and definitely. His hand moved up her arm to her shoulder, his touch more firm and confident than it had been before. “I want you.”

“Is that all? Is that all you have to say to me?” He couldn’t quite tell if she was angry or playing with him. Her hand, which had traveled downward to his chest, gave him a clue.

“I trip all over myself every time I try to tell you how I feel,” he said, adopting the silky voice he hoped he could undo her with. As her hand roamed lazily across his chest, he felt a warmth, a coming-alive again. He was no longer paralyzed. He inched closer to her and whispered, “Let me show you.”

She sighed, her hand now moving down to his side, half-embracing him across the space that remained between him. She let her head fall to the pillow again, looking over at him from the same level. Her eyes were full of kindness and adoration, but her words were less so. “It won’t be easy for you.”

He shook his head and looked deeply into her eyes. “I don’t expect it to be easy.”

She smiled at him, almost frightening him by how little it matched the words that came out of her mouth again. “I have never expected anything.”

He moved still closer, dropping his hand to her side, too, holding her as she held him. “I’m sorry, Julia. I should have known a long time ago.” He moved his hand further behind her back, pulling her closer to him.

“I never expected anything, even when you gave me reason to. You trained me not to expect anything from you. Even now, I don’t think I can expect anything.”

“Oh, Julia, how can you doubt me now? Look at me. I need you.” He almost begged as he moved still closer, slipping one foot between her legs and caressing her from calf to ankle.

There was that flash of anger in her eyes. “What will you need tomorrow? Who?”

“You, only you. If you only knew how strongly I feel…” He closed the distance between them totally, his body lightly touching hers in places.

“If I only knew!” she laughed. “Yes, I know. _You_ don’t know. But you will.”

Her words were teasing and challenging, but her face increasingly conveyed a deep sadness, the sadness she had shown him earlier that night, but even more unguarded, even more unsettling. He stroked her face gently, tracing the line of her jaw which quivered, the edge of her bottom lip which she bit to keep from crying, her eyelids which closed, not wanting to see. He whispered, his lips glancing her forehead as he did, “Let me take away your pain.”

She pressed herself tightly against him, allowing him to enfold her completely in his arms. “You’re the only one who can.”

“In spite of everything?” he whispered.

“God help me, yes,” she murmured into his neck.

He pulled back just far enough to look her straight in the eye. “Then let me, let me.”

She nodded, but sadly. “If only you weren’t too afraid, too blind, too self-destructive…”

“No longer,” he said, and accepting the dare, kissed her full on the lips, hard. She responded in kind, opening her mouth to him, opening herself to him, surprising him with the force of her passion and need. He might otherwise have attempted to keep his own at bay, but instead he matched her, urged her on, pulling her closer, closer to him – there was no closer, as long as their clothes separated them. He held her more tightly, then. He was breathless when she suddenly pulled away.

He lunged at her to continue their kiss, but she stopped him, blocking his lips with her fingertips. “Why have you been torturing me? Going halfway and stopping all the time?”

“I'm sorry,” he breathed, trying desperately to find her lips again. “I only half-knew my own feelings...”

She laughed derisively. “Have you only half-known your own feelings for years now?”

“Yes... I think so...” He could not focus on words now. Didn’t his desire speak for itself?

“You _think_ so?” She persisted, drawing still further away from him.

He spoke in clipped phrases, breathless, searching for what might be judged the magic word. “I have, I've been a fool, not to see... how I felt... what I wanted...”

“If you had any idea what that torture felt like.” She continued to mock him and deny his advances.

He forced himself to stop, pull back, look her in the eye sincerely again. “I'm sorry Julia... Please, let me make it up to you.”

“I don't think there's any making up for it.” She shook her head. But the devilish smile she gave him said otherwise.

“Please don't tell me it's too late...” he said, terrified, desperate that it might be.

“No. No, I'm not quite that self-denying. Perhaps a better way would be for me to show you what that kind of torture feels like.”

His voice betrayed his nervousness, faltering. “What do you mean?”

She stroked his cheek gently again, the smile that so unsettled him never wavering. “Going halfway, stopping?”

“Oh, god...” He felt a shudder go through him, a shudder of anticipated pain and pleasure as it occurred to him what she might have in mind. He both wanted and did not want to be proven right.

“However hard this will be for you, Barnabas, just imagine how it pales in comparison to what I've felt,” she said, her voice soothing, but her eyes promising pain.

He nodded gravely. “I will take my punishment like a man.”

Her hand left his face and quickly stroked the length of his body, landing meaningfully between his legs. “A fine choice of words,” she smirked, and gave him a squeeze.

He whimpered slightly as he felt her hand close around him and release him, pulling away just slightly. Almost involuntarily he lurched forward to reconnect with her hand. He brushed her and she pulled away again. He lunged more quickly, more desperately and she laughed, throwing her head back in glee. The line of her throat was so beautiful. He had never touched it as a vampire, he never would have, no matter how much he had wanted it, and there had been times when he wanted it so badly he had no choice but to run from her. But now he could – he could, if she would only allow him…

She threw both arms around him, rolling onto her back and pulling him on top of her. She knew precisely what he wanted. He lowered his lips to her neck, at first only brushing them against her skin, taking in the feel of it against the sensitive skin of his lips. Her chin tilted further upward, a moan escaping her throat as he increased the pressure. He could feel the vibrations of the sounds she made through her skin. He felt a more deep sensory connection to her already than he had ever felt to any of his victims through the artificial link his vampire powers created. This was more real than anything he had ever felt or imagined… why had he never quite imagined this before? Why had he always stopped himself just short?

“I told you, this is your punishment for exactly that,” she laughed, as if she could read his mind. 

He looked up at her, shocked. “Julia, how?”

“I know everything here. Don’t even try to guard yourself against me. I have complete power over you.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, pushing his swelling cock against her again.

“And you won’t fight me?”

He shook his head vehemently. “I won’t – I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Tonight?”

“Ever. Please.” He trailed his kisses down to the hollow of her throat, his hands exploring further down, marking the path he wished to follow. He was disappointed but not altogether surprised when she pushed him away from her long before he got there.

“Sit up,” she commanded, gesturing for him to sit with his back against the headboard. He complied, so far enjoying ceding all control to her.

She threw one leg to the other side of his hip, straddling him on her knees, far above his hardness which strained to make contact with her again.

“Patience, Barnabas,” she whispered, leaning down to nibble at one earlobe. “I can teach you all about patience.”

He moved his hands to cup each of her knees, which she permitted, but she swatted them away as they attempted to move up her thighs to her hips and guide her down. “Patience,” she whispered again.

“If you only knew how much I want you,” he said, trying to find a use for his hands she would accept, moving to her waist, her shoulders, seeking her own hands to hold, and finding himself denied each time. Accepting defeat, he let them drop to her knees again.

“If you only knew how much I wanted you,” she echoed, “every day, for the last four years of my life.”

“I wish I could turn back time,” he said, sorrow in his eyes.

“Oh no, don’t do that guilt and remorse routine with me,” she said, moving her hands to each of his shoulders to keep him pinned hard against the headboard. “Just accept your punishment.”

He gulped, nodded. She lowered herself slowly, stopping suddenly every time he bucked up at her. “Be still,” she commanded. He nodded again.

He controlled himself somehow as she continued her descent, his reward for good behavior coming in the lightest touch of her needy center against his own. She studied his reaction, and found an acceptable mixture of desperation and restraint. She felt him twitch against her. It was an absolutely involuntary twitch, which in fairness she did not hold against him. 

“Do you believe how I feel?” he implored her.

She smiled gently, but continued her highly effective form of torture, beginning to slowly rub herself back and forth against him. “I do, Barnabas. The question is, do you? Do you really believe it?”

“Of course I believe it. I’ve been blind, but no fool could continue to mistake this feeling.” 

“Good,” she smiled, grinding hard against him for the first time. At this he lost control, attempting to return the favor, and struggling to free his arms from her grip. She shook her head. “You were doing so well, too. I see we’re going to have to try another approach.”

She rose again, moving backward on the bed, still on her knees. “I’m going to trust you not to move. I trust you, Barnabas.”

“Oh, god…” he moaned, scrubbing his face with his hands as she closed her palm around him again.

She adopted a mock contemplative expression, then said, “But I wouldn’t want to let you feel completely uninvolved. Suppose you tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

“Julia…” She was driving him insane. That would put him right over the edge. Right where she wanted him.

“I’m not saying I’ll do exactly as you ask, but the request line is open.” She looked at him expectantly. He remained mute, helpless. “Come on, Barnabas. You have to be able to ask for what you want if you ever expect to get it. Ask me. Start small.” She laughed, looking down at the bulge between his legs again. “Perhaps it’s too late to start small, but you get the idea.”

His voice broke as he said, seeing he had no choice, “Pull off my pants.”

“Because I realize that was difficult for you, all right,” she said, as if only fair. She hooked the fingers of both hands under the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms, looking up at him, daring him to act. He breathed heavily, but he sat still and bore it. Slowly she peeled the pants back, stopping momentarily just before they passed below his cock, prolonging the torment. When she continued downward, it sprang loose and waved almost comically in front of her for a moment. She smiled back at him appreciatively. It was a long way down until the pants were completely off, and she took her time.

“What next?” she asked casually.

“The shorts, too,” he groaned.

“Oh, you are getting better at this. You should try knowing and asking for what you want more often.”

“Yes,” he said, banging his head once against the headboard. 

“All right, the shorts go too, don’t get upset. Much too early in the night to get upset,” she taunted him, but when she repeated the same process with the shorts, once she passed his throbbing shaft, they came off much more quickly.

It was his turn to give her a twisted smile. “You’re just making this harder on yourself, too. You want this as much as I do. If you punish me, you punish yourself.”

She shrugged carelessly. “Perhaps you’re right. But I can take much more of it than you. My resistance is built up.”

“I don’t want to defeat you,” he said.

“What do you want, then? I’m waiting.”

More confidently, with no shame left, he said, “Take me in your mouth.”

“Checkmate,” she grinned. “That’s nothing but pleasure for me – plenty of pain for you.”

She lowered herself to the mattress, propping herself up on her elbows, taking in the sight of him in all its naked glory. She played with his dark hair idly. She asked, “Is it painful already?”

“Yes – god,” he winced as her fingertips roamed toward his balls.

She leaned forward and kissed the tip lightly, the slight contact making him quiver again. “You’re so easy,” she said playfully, blowing on his shaft from root to tip. “We don’t want it to end too soon.”

“I’m sure you have no intention of letting it,” he said, frustrated beyond belief.

“Now you’re catching on.”

Her lips touched him again, tenderly, at the base of his hard cock, then slowly moved upward, kissing him as she went, then nibbling slightly, running her teeth against his sensitive skin, then tracing the circumference of him at the tip with her tongue.

His moan of pleasure certainly sounded like pain. Apparently the reaction she wanted, she proceeded to wrap her lips around him, applying a gentle suction, while her tongue continued to flit across and around and around the tip of him. 

“Deeper,” he choked out, breathless. She stopped and looked up at him, balking at what sounded like a command. He added weakly, “Please.”

With a smile she returned to her task, licking roughly along the length of him now before she took him in her mouth again, her lips and tongue slowly inviting him deeper and deeper into her warm wetness. The sight of her ministering to him at the foot of the bed, beyond his reach, drove him wild. Watching was as pleasurable as participating, whatever she thought; for a moment he believed he had beaten her at her own game, until he fully realized just how skilled she was in building him up and bringing him back down so that he never really got anywhere.

“Julia, please,” he begged her. She looked up at him with an expression of innocence, not stopping what she was doing. “Stop, stop…”

With one last maneuver up the length of him, her lips gripping him tightly the whole way, she did stop. She sat up again, casually stroking the hair between his legs as if it were her personal pet. “Now what?”

“Are you letting me decide?” He asked hoarsely.

She shrugged again. “I’m willing to give you the illusion of deciding.”

His eyes sought hers, pleading with her for mercy. “Can I come to you now?”

She nodded and he was at her side in a moment, his hands around her waist, his legs stretched out before him. She curled up beside him. She ran her hand along his chest, stopping to undo a single button before moving on.

“You can do more than that,” he said softly, moving her hand back to the second button. “May I kiss you?”

She nodded and leaned forward, pulling his head toward hers with both hands. Their kiss was sweeter and gentler now, even though his cock still ached to be inside of her. She broke the kiss and embraced him fiercely, burying her head in his neck. He held her for a long minute, not sure what turn this had taken or what she wanted from him now. Finally she began to move her hands slowly up and down his back, then, sliding under the fabric of his shirt, she kneaded his bare skin directly. She sighed, her hot breath against his neck giving him goosebumps. He played with the thin strap of her nightgown on one shoulder, moving it aside and kissing her skin where it had been.

“What happened to punishment?” he asked.

She pulled back and leaned her forehead against his. “It’s no use. I can’t seem to punish you, really. Even though you have it coming.”

“I wanted us to be even, but I suppose it doesn’t really work that way,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“What do you really want, Barnabas?”

“I want to be with you, Julia,” he whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

She smiled, slowly working at the buttons of his pajama top again. “If we want the same thing, why do we fight each other so much?”

“We should put an end to that.” He returned her smile and kissed her again, more deeply, groaning into her mouth as she removed the last of his clothing, throwing the shirt to the floor and in the same gesture reaching down to verify he was still at the ready. “If we’re going to start playing fair…” he began, and as if to finish the thought flicked the other strap of her nightgown off her shoulder.

She dropped her arms from around him and allowed him to pull the garment down below her breasts. He caressed her almost reverently, feeling her nipples harden under his hands. She shivered in response to his gentle and loving touch, his hungry and fascinated gaze. He looked into her eyes again and said, “You’re so beautiful, Julia.”

She colored and looked away, dismissing his appraisal. He lifted her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “After all this, that’s what embarrasses you? You are beautiful.”

“Oh, Barnabas…” She pulled him toward her and kissed him again, her bare chest colliding with his. They both gasped to feel their skin against the other’s. That tactile sensation made everything feel so much more immediate, and suddenly their hands were in each other’s hair, their tongues mingling in the other’s mouth, their bodies pressing to be closer, to touch more and more skin. He slipped one hand between her knees, encouraging her to straddle him again. She did so, and when she lunged at him again, the force of her passion sent him hurtling to the mattress, laughing and bringing her down with him.

He slipped her nightgown down past her waist, and she stepped out of it, one leg at a time, kicking it to the floor. She lay on top of him, covering his body with her own, their kisses wild and needy, their hands exploring freely. She felt his cock pushing up against her and she ground herself back against it, causing him to moan in mixed pleasure and pain again.

“I thought punishment was off the table,” he said wryly.

“For the moment,” she said between kisses, still rubbing herself against him, the realization of her wetness driving him beyond the point of toleration.

“Then please… I need you now.”

She sat up slowly, stroking his face, his shoulders, his chest as she rose, resting herself between his hips. The feeling of him pressed against her was incredible, but she could wait no longer either. Steadying herself with one hand on his stomach, with the other she reached behind him and grasped him, guiding him toward her. Slowly, she took him inside of her, savoring the sensation of him filling her, inch by inch, further, deeper. She gasped and drew him in deeper still, holding him there as long as she could stand it and feeling him press hard up into her.

With her eyes closed, she began to ride him, slowly, irregularly at first, soon falling into a rhythm. Shallowly, he began to thrust against her in time with her own movements, then pushed harder and deeper as they became more sure of each other. She squeezed him inside her, eliciting a new sort of growl from him that made her throw her head back in abandon, reveling in the power she had over him. In return, he issued a burst of short fast thrusts that made her cry out, beginning to feel the tightness of oncoming release within her.

She pulled him to a sitting position with her. From this angle he buried himself in her somehow still deeper, but could not move with quite the same agility and power. She kissed him slowly again, and he savored the moment, being as close to her as he could possibly be, not letting the sensations pass quickly from one to the next to the inevitable conclusion, but trying desperately to commit it all to memory. He suddenly felt he would need the memory…

She broke away from him, burying her face in his neck and wrapping her arms around him, as if holding on for dear life. “Hurry, Barnabas, harder…”

He could not help but go harder, but through clenched teeth he muttered, “Hurry?”

“We’re almost out of time,” she said, sounding almost frantic. “I need this just once!”

“Not just once –“ He gasped. He could feel it was nearly ending. 

“Then remember…” she whispered, out of breath.

“Remember what?” he asked, desperate to understand.

She slowed for a moment, caressing his face lovingly. “I told you, dreams can help you work things out.”

“No…” He kissed her deeply, trying to make it real. “Tell me it’s not just a dream.”

“Please don’t forget…”

“I won’t forget,” he promised.

“Then say it, tell me now, so you’ll remember.”

He looked deep into her eyes, the only eyes he trusted to bring him back to reality. He continued to look into her eyes as he began to plunge hard into her again, losing control, sliding in and out erratically, desperately. He saw the love and happiness in her eyes and wanted to remember. He wanted, before it was too late, to take her over the edge with him. “I love you,” he whispered. With one last hard thrust, she cried out and he felt her muscles contracting around him. He held her tight, refusing to let go, the sight and sound and feeling of her orgasm pushing him over. He grunted uncontrollably and felt his release come, and his body float off into a kind of oblivion.

\----------------------

 

Barnabas jerked awake, sensing something was wrong, but unable to quite identify it. The feeling passed quickly and he dismissed it. Sunlight streamed into the room. Julia had awoken and left their bed already. He was disappointed at first, but then realized it was lucky … he suddenly became aware of a warm wetness against his leg. It must have been a pleasant dream for once. He tried to remember what he had dreamed about but could not. He was simply aware of a calm sort of happiness, real contentment he had never known, in its wake. But the happiness faded as he lie there, knowing somehow it was important, that it might mean something, for him to remember. The harder he tried to remember, the further even the feeling of it floated away from him. What did it mean that he always remembered every detail of his bad dreams, and forgot his good dreams immediately? He would have to remember to ask Julia.


	30. Chapter 30

Barnabas came downstairs the next morning to find Julia with her back to him, telephone at her ear. Within moments he could easily surmise who she was talking to.

"Don't worry, we won't forget – no no, we won't skip town, either," she laughed lightly. "Do you want me to stop by tomorrow beforehand to help you–? ... All right. ... Thanks. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Let me guess: Elizabeth," he said, walking toward her.

She nodded, smiling. "Reminding us about our party tomorrow. As if we could forget it." She watched him closely as she asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, for a change," he said, but frowned.

She reacted more to the expression than the words. "Really?"

"Yes – but it's strange. I remember every detail of my nightmares, they're as vivid to me as if they had actually happened five minutes ago. But when I have a good dream, I forget it entirely. Is that normal?"

She shrugged slightly, as if to dismiss the concept of 'normal' when it came to dreams and the inner workings of the mind. "How do you know you had a good dream, if you don't remember?"

He looked off and took a step away from her – what little sense of it he had embarrassed him. "I just woke up feeling... happy."

She laughed softly to herself, rejoining him at his side again. "And now you're worried about it. Don't be. It's either meaningless, or – something you're not quite ready to deal with. It's extraordinary what our brains protect us from."

His eyebrows went up, somewhat skeptical. "But the nightmares, I am ready for?"

"Sometimes what we want is even harder to face than what we fear," she said quietly.

He turned toward her again and said earnestly, "I think I'll take the good dreams, come what may."

"It's up to you," she said, smiling up at him. When he returned her gaze and then her smile, she looked away nervously. "How soon can you be ready? I want to pay Elliot a visit this morning. It's been a while since we've spoken – and I want to give him a piece of my mind."

"About what?"

She walked a few steps away aimlessly, her arms gesturing widely in frustration. "Elizabeth, his whole philosophy of how we should act in this time. I think he's too fixated on his theories to remember there are people's lives involved."

He noted and wondered at the anger that rose up in her when she spoke of it, but he said only, "I'm ready now. Let's go."

\---------------------------

 

Barnabas and Julia knocked on the door several times before Elliot answered. When he did, he adopted a mocking sort of a grin. "Well! I was hardly expecting to see the two of you. I had begun to think you'd forgotten our predicament."

"Elliot, we need to talk," Julia said resolutely, ignoring his gibe. 

"Come in, come in," Elliot said, still grinning, gesturing toward the interior. "I was enjoying the morning air out back. I almost failed to hear you. Care to join me?"

He didn't wait for a response before turning and leading them back through the house. Barnabas and Julia exchanged a wary look as if they somehow felt they were being lured into a trap.

As they walked out onto Elliot's back porch, they were surprised to be greeted by another voice. "Ah, Julia, Barnabas! What a coincidence. We were just talking about you."

Elliot watched them closely as they both turned in unison to the sound of the voice, and saw with interest the shock and horror come over Julia's face. She was so shocked that she lost her balance for a moment, stumbling slightly against Barnabas. He steadied her with a gentle hand to her back, but he stared straight ahead, determined to hide his similar feelings from Elliot. And from Dave Woodard, standing before them. 

"Are you all right?" Dave asked, not failing to notice Julia's strange behavior. He approached them, concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, quickly trying to cover her fear with embarrassment he might believe, laughing at herself. "I've been having these dizzy spells once in a while."

Woodard looked at her, worried, placing a friendly hand on her arm. "Julia, you should have that checked out. It could be serious if it's happening often."

"Not that often," she said, shaking her head.

Barnabas heard her voice break ever so slightly, and reached down to take her nearer hand in his. He gave it a supportive squeeze and didn't let go.

"You should come to my office all the same," Dave said. "You know you don't need an appointment."

She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

Dave stepped back, looking from one to the other. "I hope I haven't said or done anything to offend the two of you."

"What would make you think that?" Barnabas asked, giving Julia's hand another squeeze the other two could not see.

Dave's eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "You acted the same way the other night, Barnabas – evasive, almost cold." 

"We don't mean to be," Julia said firmly, with some effort forcing herself to look him in the eye and smile. "We've both just been so tired lately."

Suddenly Dave looked uncomfortable, embarrassed for having mentioned it. Everyone seemed well aware of and deferential to the challenges Barnabas and Julia faced in this time. 

"I'm sorry," he said, relenting, and chuckling lightly. "You know me – I have a naturally suspicious disposition." The smile he gave them both was full of understanding and supportiveness that made both their stomachs lurch again. "Well, Elliot, I really should be going anyhow."

Elliot, the bemused expression on his face not fading as he watched all this, now looked a bit disappointed to see it end so soon. "Don't be in any rush on their account," he laughed.

"No, no, I really had better get to the office. Thanks, Elliot. Bye, all." He nodded to each of them in farewell, his eyes lingering on Julia. "And please see me if this dizziness continues."

She nodded a promise. "All right."

Once Dave had left the porch Barnabas and Julia turned glowering stares on Elliot, but waited until they heard the sound of his car starting before speaking.

"Why didn't you tell us Dave was here?" Julia hissed.

"We could have said anything to you – he might have overheard!" Barnabas kept his voice low, but his eyes flashed with anger. He dropped Julia's hand finally and walked toward Elliot to confront him.

Elliot's amusement deepened as he took in their reactions. "It interests me, the way the two of you act around Dave Woodard."

"It interests you? You risked exposing everything because it interests you?" Julia shook her head in disbelief.

"There was no risk," Elliot said, not provoked by either of them. "But it's true, he does seem to be a naturally suspicious man. He asks a lot of very interesting questions."

"What does that mean?" Barnabas asked, a little too urgently.

"What did he mean when he said you were just talking about us?" Julia asked in the same tone.

Elliot made a gesture of contrition, reaching out to both of them. "Come, sit down. Relax."

Neither relaxed, but they did take a seat opposite him, waiting impatiently for him to continue.

"We weren't discussing anything serious, so you can both rest easily. We were merely speaking of your anniversary party tomorrow night, to which we have both been invited." Elliot raised his eyebrows meaningfully, then turned on Julia. "Now why does he make you so jumpy? Barnabas acted just the same the other night."

Inwardly she shivered, but to Elliot she was all steel. "He was a good friend of mine, Elliot, and he passed away suddenly. It was difficult to see him."

"Of course. Forgive me," he said by rote, his attitude not changing. 

"How did you come to be having coffee with Dave Woodard anyhow?" Barnabas turned the questioning back on him.

"It would seem he and my counterpart are good friends in this time. We have a standing Monday morning breakfast engagement. I could hardly turn him out when he showed up."

"So your policy of noninvolvement doesn't extend beyond Elizabeth," Julia said irritably. 

"I don't believe I understand your implication, Julia."

Julia threw up her hands in frustration. "You're breaking her heart, Elliot, and ruining it for the Elliot of this time. You've ignored her all this time. If you would at least talk to her–"

Suddenly Elliot became deadly serious, cutting her off. "I still believe it is crucial that we be as little involved as possible. A broken heart is a small matter in comparison to losing our chance to get home altogether. The two of you seem to be becoming more involved here all the time."

"What do you mean?" Barnabas demanded.

"This anniversary party again, for one example. Imagine my surprise when I received the invitation the other day. Was this planned before we arrived here?"

Julia and Barnabas both looked slightly guilty, but neither were about to apologize for it. Barnabas volunteered, "No. We agreed to it ourselves."

Elliot went on, "It's a terribly dangerous idea, mixing with all of those people at once. You have no idea how much harm you could do."

Barnabas crossed his arms, annoyed at being lectured to. "Then I take it you won't be in attendance."

"I suppose I had better be, as damage control!" Elliot exclaimed. "Have you two even given a thought to finding our way home since we last spoke?"

Julia protested, "We don't have any idea how to even go about it, Elliot! And we've been busy with other things – we have to take care of Amy. She's been ill."

Elliot shifted uncomfortably, recognizing that he could hardly argue against that. Still he persisted in his usual forthright manner, "All the same I must ask that you focus on what we need to do. You seem to have started to live out your lives here. It's very dangerous."

"Why dangerous?" Barnabas asked. "Do you mean counterproductive, or actually dangerous?"

"Actually dangerous, Barnabas. Our way home, which we are no closer to now than we were the day we came here, may be dependent upon this time remaining on the course it should be on. If you two go around participating, changing things–"

"That's just what I'm trying to tell you, Elliot," Julia snapped. "There's no way to avoid it. You're changing things, too, by refusing to participate, changing the course of Elizabeth's life, and who knows how many others in response."

His expression darkened. He knew she was right, but would not admit it in so many words. "The only real course is to focus on how to get home. Bring our times back to symmetry for the brief moment necessary to shift us back. Don't you have any new ideas, any at all, no matter how unlikely or insignificant they may seem seem?"

"What if..." Barnabas trailed off, looking down at his hands. "What if it weren't a moment precisely, but us, gradually coming to feel more like our counterparts do in this time..."

Julia turned to look at him, trying to understand what thought was trying to form in his troubled and clouded mind.

Elliot dismissed it out of hand. "That's just the sort of talk I find dangerous, Barnabas. You're starting to sound like you'd be just as happy to stay here."

"Not at all!" Julia protested. Barnabas smiled slightly at her rising to his defense – even though it was exactly what she had accused him of herself.

Elliot sighed. "I can only ask you to keep trying. Forget about Elizabeth's broken heart. Forget about that governess you suspect of being a witch. Forget about acting out this part of the happy couple after this party tomorrow, which I suppose we can't get out of now. These shouldn't be your concerns."

Julia rose abruptly. "All right, Elliot. We understand. I don't think there's anything left to say now. We had better leave you and get to work."

Elliot and Barnabas stood as well. Elliot walked toward them, looking apologetic. "I am sorry to sound so harsh. But I thought you two might take some reminding what our purpose is here."

"Don't worry about it," Julia said, suddenly adopting a thin smile. "We're all on the same side."

"We'll see you tomorrow, Elliot," Barnabas said curtly. "We can see ourselves out."

And they left quickly, leaving Elliot alone on his porch, staring after them in part confusion, part suspicion.


	31. Chapter 31

As soon as they were on the other side of Elliot's front door, Barnabas turned to Julia and asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, scowling nevertheless. "He can be so maddening and hypocritical–"

"I don't just mean Elliot," he said quietly, calming her down with the sound of his voice. He searched her eyes deeply.

She smiled weakly, if only to reassure him. She knew what he meant. "I'm okay."

He nodded, watching her closely. He understood that she did not want to, could not bear to, discuss it any further now. Looking back at the door warily, he said, "We'd better go."

As they walked toward her car, he asked, "You were just trying to appease him, weren't you?"

"Yes," she said, shooting him a sly sideways look. Momentum, movement, made it easier for her to keep her spirits up after their encounter with Elliot and Dave Woodard. "Let him attack the problem his way. I don't intend to sit around all day avoiding the world and waiting for a lightning bolt to strike."

He looked over at her admiringly as they got in and she started the car. "What do you have in mind?"

"I think we should go to Collinwood. Even if Liz did warn me to stay far away from her party preparations, which I'm sure is in full swing by now."

"What are you hoping to find at Collinwood?" Barnabas wondered.

"While Jennifer is giving her lesson, I'm going to slip into her room and search it."

"Search it? For what?"

"For the 'toy' Amy mentioned while I had her under yesterday. Which I doubt is anything like a toy. Also, the other night, I found a hairpin by Amy's bed."

"And you want to check to see if it matches one in Jennifer's room."

"Yes." Her voice was a challenge he backed away from. She raised the argument for him. "Oh, I know, even if it were her hairpin, it proves nothing. I already know she was in Amy's room that night. But I'm sure it was there only later, after I told her to stay out of that room."

He was surprised. "You told her to stay out of her room?"

She sighed heavily. "I know. Again, I'm acting on my own instincts, and probably creating a problem between her and the other Julia that I didn't need to. But if I'm right..."

He was incredulous. "You still think she's Angelique?"

"Something isn't right about her, Barnabas," she insisted quietly.

"Do you think she's causing Amy to have these attacks? What reason could she possibly have to hurt a little girl?"

"What reason had Angelique to hurt Sarah? To get at you. She isn't above it."

A chill came over him, thinking of Sarah – and thinking of how Jennifer came to be at his doorstep that night. She looked over at him, seeing the pained expression on his face, and wished she hadn't said it. She said, "I'm sorry, Barnabas."

He shook his head, dismissing it. "I'm sorry, too. You're right, we at least have to rule out the possibility."

They exchanged a quick look that reaffirmed their solidarity. They drove on in silence for several minutes, a silence borne of mutual agreement not to disagree, but quickly settling out into simple comfort in each other's presence. Barnabas was aware of no change in her as she drove on, glancing at her sideways now and then, seeing her eyes fixed on the road, her face expressionless. He watched as she did it but did not understand at first why, seemingly all of a sudden, she turned to look over her shoulder before guiding the car to the side of the road and slowly, without a word, coming to a complete stop. He was confused more than concerned; her face betrayed no emotion, no sign of trouble; but her hands still gripped the wheel, her eyes still stared straight ahead. 

"Julia?"

At the sound of his voice, all at once, she broke down, burying her head in her arms crossed over the steering wheel so he could not see her face. He could hear her breathing come increasingly ragged, could see her back and shoulders tremble with the violence of her sorrow, but she did not allow a sound to escape her lips. "Julia..." he reached out to touch her gently on her shoulder – this provoked her first vocal sob. "Oh, Julia, what's wrong?" He rubbed her back more firmly with the palm of his hand, soothingly moving across her back and her shoulders. He knew what was wrong. He didn't have to ask twice.

He did not pull away, but he was afraid to do any more. Finally she collected herself enough to sit up, angrily brushing the tears away from one eye and then the other. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then took a deep breath, trying to control herself. "I didn't realize it would be so hard – to– to see him–" In trying to vocalize it, she lost control of herself again, her face contorting in a way she had never allowed him to see before, the tears flooding from her eyes.

He caught her hands in his before she could bury her face in them again and pulled them down to her lap. "Please," he said, his voice calming, barely above a whisper, "let me help you." Releasing her hands, he opened his arms to her, and she fell into them gratefully if awkwardly over the center console of the car. She buried her face in his shoulder, still struggling against her pain and regret. When he began to stroke her hair and shoulders, she could struggle no longer, letting go the tears she had held in for so many years into the body of the very man who had caused them.

"You've helped me so many times. Let me help you. Let it all go." He held her as tightly as he could, given the space between them in the front seat of her car. He continued to move his hands over her back in comforting circular motions. "You're so strong. But you have to let it go, Julia."

He held her until he felt her body relax in his arms, until he could tell that her breathing had returned to normal, until she had stopped crying or had no tears left to cry. He held her even after the tears subsided, his worry and shared sorrow giving way at almost the same instant to an unfamiliar but perfectly natural sense of calm and contentment. He held her until she pulled away.

She pulled away slowly, resting her back against the driver's side door, looking him straight in the eye in a way that unnerved him. The paths of her tears had dried on her cheeks, catching the sunlight in a perversely beautiful way. Her eyes had certainly brightened. She said, simply, "Thank you."

"Of course." The corners of his mouth twitched in a slight smile – was it the wrong reaction? Hers did, too. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "No. Not now, anyhow." She leaned forward slightly, not breaking eye contact with him, as if she needed for him to understand something. "You do help me, Barnabas. You don't know how much."

"How can I?" he asked softly. "When I am the one who caused your suffering in the first place?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she did not look away. There was no denying the truth in his words. But it didn't change how she felt. "I struggle with who you were, too, Barnabas. Just as much as you do. Just as much as I struggle with who I was. But we're here now."

He nodded slowly, understanding her words but not understanding how she could actually live them. She had a strength unlike any he had ever known, and he saw it all the more clearly for the fragility she had just shown him. He admired, and he wanted that strength. But she had such certainty around what was only beginning to dawn on him – how could he possibly bridge the gap?

She turned away, checking her eye makeup in the mirror. She scowled slightly, rubbing away the black smudges with the pads of her fingertips. She moved on more easily than he ever got started, he saw – but he didn't want to move on yet; not quite yet...

She allowed herself a cleansing sigh, then turned back to him. "All right," she said, as if that were the end of it. "On to Collinwood?"


	32. Chapter 32

"Barnabas! Julia!" Elizabeth opened the door to Collinwood in evident surprise, surprise that quickly melted into dismay. She admonished them, half-playfully, but still meaning it, "I told you you were not to come here before tomorrow night."

Julia smiled apologetically. "We didn't come to spoil your plans, I promise, and I'll steer clear of the drawing room–" As she said so, she couldn't help but glance in that direction, but found Elizabeth had closed the double doors as a precaution. "I just wanted to run upstairs quickly to see Amy for a moment–"

"All right – but no sneaking around. I can't blame you for being curious, but it will be worth the wait, I promise." Seeing Barnabas and Julia glance at each other nervously, she added, "But quiet and tasteful, all the same."

"We have complete confidence in you, of course, Elizabeth," Barnabas said in his most charming manner.

Elizabeth was evidently charmed. "I'm glad. Well, you know where you are allowed and where you are not today."

Barnabas inclined his head in acceptance. "Of course."

That objection cleared, Elizabeth changed the subject. "Amy seems much better today."

Julia nodded, confirming, "Yes, she's back to her old self."

Elizabeth looked relieved, but not entirely. "She can still be so moody, at times... If you don't mind my saying so, do you think she might benefit from having girlfriends her own age?"

"What makes you say that?" Barnabas asked.

Elizabeth glanced from one to the other, looking as if she wished she hadn't brought it up. "Sometimes I find her sitting alone, talking to herself. I hate to mention it. But she seems so sad."

"Perhaps we should think about that," Julia said, looking over at Barnabas thoughtfully.

"Now is hardly the time to bring it up. But perhaps we should talk about it, over the summer – you, me, Roger – Elliot." Elizabeth frowned, remembering he would have to be involved in any conversation involving Hallie's education. "Perhaps it would be better to let Jennifer go next fall and send the children to school in the village."

Julia lowered her voice, although no one else was around. "You really don't care for Jennifer much, do you?"

"It's merely a question of what's right for the children. If it were a matter of anything else..." Elizabeth shrugged rather than finish the thought.

Julia finished it for her. "She would have been gone long ago?"

Elizabeth smiled but did not say as much out loud. "We should finish this conversation another time. I'll let the two of you go on up to see Amy. And I'll see you tomorrow night."

"We're looking forward to it, Elizabeth," Barnabas said. 

They all exchanged warm smiles and, sensing Elizabeth was waiting for them to disappear up the stairs before she would return to her work, Barnabas and Julia turned to go. They walked upstairs and into the main corridor in silence. Elizabeth's eyes followed them until the door closed behind them.

"So what, precisely, is your plan?" Barnabas whispered once they were on the other side of the door.

"I'll search her room – perhaps you should stand lookout in case she comes out. They're in Elizabeth's study," she said pointing to the end of the hall, "far enough away that you should be able to intercept her."

"How will I warn you?" he asked, concerned.

"If she's as infatuated with you as you say, you should have no problem distracting her," Julia said, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Barnabas frowned, not nearly as amused. "Perhaps I should search instead, and you wait outside."

"Afraid of being alone with her?"

His frown deepened. "I'd rather not be, no."

Understanding his mood, she stopped teasing him, trying reason instead. "I'll be quick. If one of us needs to distract her, you'll have an easier time doing it than I will." 

"All right," he said, obviously not pleased but seeing no way to argue with her.

Julia slipped quietly into Jennifer's room, looking about for the best place to begin her search. It was not much changed from her own time, when it had belonged to first Vicky, then Maggie. Jennifer evidently lived simply, without leaving many personal effects about. There were no photographs of family or friends to be seen. "Probably because she doesn't have any," Julia muttered to herself absently. 

She went to the dressing table, where, in plain view, a small box containing hairpins lay open, almost taunting her. Julia withdrew the hairpin she had found the night before from her purse and compared it to Jennifer's: they were the exact same. Julia sighed in frustration. It solidified her conviction but it still proved nothing. She added the hairpin to the box with the others. There seemed no point in keeping it.

Going through the drawers, she found nothing else remarkable. She made a thorough search, testing for hidden compartments and looking behind the drawers. She repeated the process with the bureau, again finding nothing out of the ordinary. Only an overabundance of not-quite-tasteful negligees, which she scowled at, to think they may have been intended for Barnabas' eyes. She thrust them back in the drawers reminding herself: not her Barnabas. Another Barnabas.

Refocusing on the task at hand, she turned her attention to the closet.

\----------------------

 

Outside the door, Barnabas stood watch, pacing nervously. He had no idea what excuse he would find if Jennifer did emerge from the room, nor what he could say to prevent her from going into her own bedroom if she intended to. He sighed heavily. Yes, he could distract her, easily, if need be. It filled him with a sense of dread, and inevitability. More than once he laid a hand on the doorknob, wishing to join Julia no matter what she said. But he stopped himself, powerless to act one way or the other.

He was not surprised, then – he was almost relieved to no longer have to wait for it to happen – when the door to Elizabeth's suite opened and Jennifer emerged. Her eyes locked on Barnabas' instantly, flashing with a smug satisfaction. 

"What brings you here, stranger?" she asked softly, approaching him slowly. "Hanging around my door?"

He avoided eye contact with her nervously. "I was coming to see Amy, as a matter of fact."

"You might have come on in," she said, a mocking laugh in her voice.

He kept his tone serious, businesslike. "I was waiting for a good moment. I didn't want to interrupt your lesson."

She matched his indifference, challenging him with it. "They're reading silently. You can go in now if you want."

He did not move, looking nervously from Jennifer to her bedroom door. There would be no way to warn Julia inside.

Jennifer lowered her voice and added, inclining her head toward the door, "Or we can go in there instead, if you prefer."

"No, I don't think there's any reason to do that."

She laughed wickedly. "Barnabas, you hurt my feelings the other night. Don't you think you ought to at least try to make it up to me?"

"I haven't changed my mind about anything," he said, trying but not entirely succeeding in sounding firm.

"I can take no for an answer, Barnabas, but you're not awfully convincing. Look at me." 

He sighed heavily and did so. If it would get her to back down, if it would keep her occupied, so be it. As soon as he really looked at her, he felt a lurching sensation as if he had literally fallen into her eyes. He felt a change come over him immediately, warming him, disorienting him for a moment, then suddenly filling him with the sense that everything was quite clear and required no further thought or action.

She purred, "I have you under my spell, don't I?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. You do."

"Good." She smiled. "What's my name?"

"Jennifer."

Her questions came as jeers. He responded in a monotone, never taking his eyes off her.

"Do I remind you of anyone else?"

"No. No one else."

"Do you want anyone else?"

"No. No one else."

"That's right." She advanced on him, backing him into her door, the smile on her face twisting into almost a leer. "And now do you want to go into my room?"

Unable to move, unable to take his eyes off her, almost unable to speak, he managed to croak out one word: "No..."

Her eyes widened in rage, boring into him all the more intently. She demanded, "Why?"

Again he struggled to say, "Julia..."

Jennifer drew herself back in indignation, about to strike again, verbally or physically, when a small voice interrupted her from behind.

"Miss Jennifer?" Amy stood in the doorway to Elizabeth's suite, her voice shaking, her eyes wide in fear.

"One moment, Amy," she said, stepping back from Barnabas. "Please wait for me inside."

Slowly, reluctantly, Amy did as she was told.

Jennifer turned back to Barnabas and whispered, her voice icy, her eyes not breaking contact for a moment, "When you remember this, you will remember your desire and your love for me. I don't ask for anything more than what you owe me, Barnabas. I ask that you accept what you already know is true. I want the love you swore you felt. The love you feel only for me. You will not speak my true name. But you will know who I am."

She backed away from him, and released her hold on his eyes. Suddenly he blinked furiously, rubbing them, confused. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Her tone mocking him gently, she said slowly, as if slightly annoyed to have to repeat herself, "I said I had better get back to the children. You took up enough of our lesson time speaking to Amy."

"I was speaking to Amy?" 

"Of course you were. That's what you came here for, isn't it? I just asked her to go back to the classroom," she laughed. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, trying to appear so. "Well, I won't keep you from your lessons any longer."

"If you're sure you're fine," she said, smiling at him sweetly. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow." He watched her go, a smile he could not quite explain following her down the hall until she disappeared. When she did, he breathed in deep as if he had been deprived of simple oxygen for a dangerous length of time. He steadied himself against the door, unable to quite collect his thoughts, to remember what was and was not real. Suddenly in a panic he remembered, gasping out loud, "Julia!" and quickly slipped into Jennifer's room.

He nearly knocked her over with the urgency of his entrance; she had been listening at the door to know if the coast was clear. "Are you all right?" she asked, worried. "I could tell you were talking to her, but I couldn't hear what you were saying."

He looked confused. "To whom? To Amy?"

"No, to Jennifer."

"Oh, I was talking to Amy a moment before. Jennifer just came out to call her back into her lesson."

Julia looked at him doubtfully. She hadn't heard Amy. "What did you talk to Amy about?"

Barnabas thought about it for a moment, then said, "The book she's reading now. I– I've forgotten what she said it was."

Julia's skepticism only deepened. "And Jennifer only came out to get Amy?"

"Yes," he said, the memory hardening in his mind as soon as he committed to it. He felt more certain. "Did you find anything here?"

She sighed, frustrated. "No. The hairpin matches, but I know it doesn't prove anything." 

"Well, if you're done searching, we should get out of here," he said, still nervous.

She scanned the room again, hoping to land on the one place she hadn't thought to search. But she had been exhaustive. "All right," she said grudgingly. "Let's go."

They exited the room quietly, checking to make sure no one was in the hall, then closing the door gently behind them. Once in the hall, Barnabas looked around, still seeming somewhat bewildered. "Are you sure you're all right?" Julia asked him again. "Did anything happen to upset you while I was in her room?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, more certain of it the longer he thought about it. "No, I was alone most of the time. Then Amy came out and we talked about what she had learned today and what she was reading. And Jennifer called her back to the classroom. When they both left, I came in to find you."

She shrugged. "Then I guess the trip was a waste."

"Should we talk to Amy before we go?" Barnabas asked.

"No, if you already did, I suppose that will satisfy any questions Elizabeth may have."

They made their way downstairs, finding the drawing room doors still closed. Both grateful to have no further encounters with the residents of Collinwood, they slipped out quietly to return to the relative security of the Old House.


	33. Chapter 33

They passed the rest of the day uneventfully. Once Amy walked back from Collinwood that afternoon, Barnabas and Julia silently agreed to put the questions and mysteries aside. Throughout dinner, and playing a few rounds of board games later, Julia temporarily forgot her frustration at being unable to tie her suspicions to Jennifer, and Barnabas forgot how unsettled his meeting with her had left him. 

Later that night, about to retire to bed herself, Julia passed Amy's room and thought she heard voices within. Resisting the urge to burst inside, she paused, her ear to the door. She could not make out the words, but she definitely heard Amy speaking. She couldn't be certain – but it sounded like the voices of _two_ young girls. She caught her breath. Could it be?

Slowly, as quietly as she could, she opened Amy's door, hoping she might catch whoever was within off guard. But she only saw Amy, perched on the edge of her bed with her back to Julia, staring in the direction of her window. Amy whirled around when she became aware of Julia's entrance, her eyes wide.

Julia suddenly felt guilty, as if she had invaded the girl's privacy. "I'm sorry, Amy – I thought I heard you talking to someone."

Amy looked away, embarrassed. "Oh... I was just talking to – myself," she said.

"I shouldn't have come in like that without knocking," Julia said. "You're old enough to have a right to your privacy."

"It's okay," Amy shrugged, as if it were nothing. But Julia could see that it made her uncomfortable. 

"Do you mind if I come in now?"

"Okay." Amy scooted over to sit on the other side of the bed, nearer to Julia. Julia sat down next to her, and Amy snuggled in close. Somewhat surprised, slightly concerned, Julia wrapped one arm around her and held her against her side.

"Are you feeling all right, sweetheart?" Julia asked quietly.

"Mmhmm," was all Amy could muster.

"If there's something that's bothering you, you know you can tell me, right?"

"I know," Amy said, but did not volunteer any more.

Julia kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair lightly. "I hope you also know I'm not worried about you if you're just talking to yourself because you want to."

Julia felt Amy nod against her body and smiled to herself, giving Amy a squeeze around her shoulders. Amy, buried in her embrace, could not see Julia look around the room for some trace of anything amiss, studying the window for a sign. She saw nothing. Perhaps she had been imagining things. Perhaps Amy had, too.

"Amy, did you see Barn–" she began, then forced herself to say with some difficulty, and a question in her voice, "Daddy... at Collinwood today?"

"Yes," Amy breathed more than said. 

"Did you talk to him?"

Amy shrugged. "No. Not really."

"What do you mean, not really? Not at all, or not much...?"

"I just saw him talking to Miss Jennifer. I didn't talk to him."

"Oh. I see." Julia frowned. Why would he lie? No – she knew why he would lie.

"What's wrong?" Amy pulled away, looking up at Julia, fear evident on her face.

"Nothing, sweetheart," Julia laughed lightly and hugged her again. "Nothing at all. I just wanted to come in to say goodnight. I'm going to bed. You should, too."

"I will." Amy returned the hug. "Goodnight, Mom."

There was still a trace of excitement in Amy's voice when she said it, delighting in the novelty of it, and the novelty still ripped Julia's heart out every time. But she said warmly, "Goodnight, Amy." She rose quickly and turned so that Amy could not see the tears she would not understand rise in her eyes, and left the room without a backward glance.

\----------------------

Meanwhile, Barnabas had taken his counterpart's letters to bed, to read until Julia joined him. There were fewer letters in recent years, most seemingly written on nights when Julia was away at Collinwood or Wyndcliffe. He was nearly through reading them all. Nearly through, and nothing to show for it. The compensation was, at least, the closer to the present he got, the less dark the letters became. There was only a streak of regret and self-loathing running through them, all more than tempered by the love and support he clearly received from the Julia of this time.

The other Barnabas took more care in dating them near the end, too, as if he understood it would become a record of their love. The letter he selected now came from only four weeks ago. He read:

> It was miserable tonight to leave you and Amy. Repetition doesn't make it any easier. I know you make her comfortable, but still I can't bear to think of her in that strange bed, in unendurable pain and inexplicable terror but for the medication you give her. Perhaps worse, because you are conscious of it, is the thought of you alone in your bed, alone as I am and terrified for her. Yes, I spare a thought of pity for myself, too, for just as surely I need you with me. 
> 
> Julia, this is a terrible arrangement. We must have an honest talk about it when she is well again. We must be honest with ourselves. Either we begin to keep her home on the days we know very well it will happen, or you will let me stay with you there. I won't listen to reason if your reason is flawed. If your bed is so small, I will hold you all the more tightly.

The letter continued on the other side of the page, clearly written at a later time and more hastily, his usually perfect penmanship a barely legible scrawl:

> Julia – I've just learned something terrible – I tried to call you at Collinwood and I could not speak it. I tried to go to you and found I could not leave. I must write this down because it appears there is no other way I can express it. You must force me to remember when you read it– 
> 
> Jennifer was here just now – I know she is not who she says she is. Amy only falls ill when she's at Collinwood, Julia, because she has been causing it. She is a witch! She is Angelique!

The last words were clearly produced with great difficulty, etched into the paper with as much force as if he had tried to carve it into the surface of a diamond. Barnabas sat bolt upright, his heart pounding furiously. "Julia!" he called out.

He looked back down at the letter, frantically wanting to reread it. As his eyes scanned the words again, they disappeared, line by line. He looked down at a blank page. He turned the page over and back again. He rubbed his eyes, disoriented. His mind felt clouded, his emotions muddled. A moment later he looked around the room in confusion – what had upset him? Was he upset? He tried to remember. He shook his head. He must be very tired.

Julia entered the room and they shared a little smile. "Did I hear you call my name?" she asked as she walked toward the bed they shared.

"No, I don't think so," he said, absently folding the letter and placing it on his bedside table. "You must be hearing things."

"Maybe I am." She laughed, thinking nothing of it. She took off her robe and hung it on the bedpost, thinking nothing of that either, by now. For his part, he was becoming less nonchalant about it all the time, watching her do so out of the corner of his eye. She got into bed and looked over at him, and asked lightly, "Still reading those letters?"

"I've almost read them all. I may as well finish, although I still haven't found any useful information in any of them." He frowned slightly, glancing over at the letter on the table, then shrugged off the strange feeling that crept up on him and left again as quickly. "At least they're... nicer to read now."

"How do you mean, nicer?" 

"Kinder, less tormented. She changed his life – it's dramatic to read it over a short span of time." He looked at her intently. "But it's not very different from what you've done for me."

"Oh. Well..." She turned away, slightly embarrassed.

He continued, little noticing the effect he had on her, "And some of the letters can be quite... racy."

"Barnabas." Her tone was a half-hearted warning. The corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile. She shook her head. "Barnabas... Amy said she didn't speak to you at Collinwood today."

"What do you mean?"

"She said she saw you talking to Jennifer, but she didn't speak to you."

He was annoyed; he knew what he remembered. "Of course she did. She told me all about the book she's reading... Little Women, that's it."

"That's what she was reading last week, Barnabas." Julia's eyes narrowed slightly, trying to make sense of him. "I'm not trying to accuse you of anything. I just don't understand why you don't want to tell me what you spoke to Jennifer about."

"I barely saw her. She came out to collect Amy, that was all," he insisted.

Julia sighed, frustrated. "Whatever is going on between you and Jennifer, you can tell me."

"There's nothing going on," he said. But when he thought of her, his feelings changed suddenly; he became confused. "I don't know what's going on..."

"All right. It's none of my business if you are falling in love with her. I simply cannot understand how you can, if there's any question in your mind that my instincts could be correct, that something might be wrong about her – that she might be Angelique!"

He jumped slightly at the invocation of Angelique's name, a reaction Julia interpreted as a sign of desire. Sadly, she added quietly, "Or perhaps that's what you want. A second chance with Angelique."

"She doesn't even look very much like Angelique," he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise and a flash of anger. "You said she might be her twin! Do you remember saying that to me?"

He looked at her, perplexed, helpless. "If I did, I was wrong."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, "You're still blind to the truth about her. You always will be."

He looked down into his lap, feeling caught between two opposing forces, not at all sure of his own mind. "Everything seemed clear a couple of days ago..."

She looked at him wearily, exhausted by the thought of going another round with him this way. "I will never understand your believing Angelique was reformed in our own time. But remember, if she exists in this time, she will not be so. And even if she has nothing to do with Jennifer, I will still never understand how you can–"

He looked up sharply, cutting her off, speaking with conviction and certainty: "I am not in love with Jennifer. Or Angelique, for that matter." 

"All right," Julia said, plainly wanting to end the subject no matter what he said.

"Please believe me." His eyes sought hers desperately.

"All right," she repeated, this time softening. 

"Julia..." He wanted to make her understand what he did not truly understand himself.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it, Barnabas."

But he could not quite let it go. "Elliot is wrong: I do not want to live out my life in this time. Something is wrong here. I don't even care to understand it. There's nothing I want to stay here for – save Amy, but I know she will be taken care of. It's not a matter of running away from what's happening here, either. We have problems enough in our own time, I'm sure."

"We're on the same page," she said, her tone of voice finally serving to reassure him somewhat. "But there's not much point in going over it all again now. I'm tired. And tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"Yes," he said grimly, suddenly exhausted by just the thought of the party and being surrounded by so many of these ghosts from the past, albeit a slightly different past.

"Good night, Barnabas," she said, turning away from him, lying down facing the window, holding up her end of their silent agreement about their sleeping arrangements.

"Good night, Julia," he said, and switched off his bedside light, but he did not hold to his end of the bargain by turning away himself. He sat still in the darkness for a long time, watching her. He believed she was tired, but more so he felt distinctly that she simply did not want to speak to him any longer. He had not made clear what he wanted to say at all. What had he wanted to say? He tried to focus, using the sight of Julia to ground his thoughts. He did not want to think of Jennifer or her strange but familiar eyes or this inexplicable hold she seemed to have over him. In brief, fleeting moments he felt reassuringly connected to reality. Somehow these moments were slipping further and further from him.

He did not know how much time had passed, but finally he committed to set it aside until tomorrow. He slipped fully under the covers and turned to face her; if it was breaking their agreement, it was a necessary betrayal. It soothed him, to watch her sleep. By now, he knew when she slept by the sight and sound of her breathing. He allowed himself to move a bit closer to her than he had in their previous nights together, close enough to feel the warmth of her body. The sight of her did ground him in reality, he knew, as his eyes followed the contours of her body in the moonlight, angular in places, curved in others. He also knew, with sudden clarity, that the sight of her put other thoughts into his mind... thoughts that were not reality, but that perhaps he wanted to be reality...

He reached out, his fingertips lightly grazing the shoulder that so captivated his interest. The moment he made contact with her skin, it came flooding back to him... the dream he had had the night before, the dream he had awoken from remembering nothing except the feeling that he had been extraordinarily happy – all at once, he remembered. He remembered every last detail... and detailed it had been. He withdrew his hand suddenly, shocked at himself. The letters that passed between the other Barnabas and Julia that he had described as "racy" paled in comparison to the dream he now realized he had had the previous night about his best friend.

He rolled onto his back, uncomfortable now to be so close. The dream had started the same way, a simple reaching out, and carried on from there. In the dream, he had done things he could not imagine actually doing... but now he was imagining. He folded his hands across his stomach as if that might bind them in place, as if otherwise he might have no power over what they would do. He looked over at her, warily. There she slept peacefully, trustingly, trusting him entirely while he lay there entertaining thoughts that she would never... would she?

At that speculation, he turned again onto his other side, facing away from her. He moved as far over in the bed as he reasonably could. The other side of the bed was cold and he was not confronted with the newly alluring – or was it so new? – lines of her body, but distance did not quiet his thoughts. Nothing would until he replayed the dream in his mind from start to finish, an activity he finally accepted was futile and self-defeating to resist any longer. And enjoyable as the entirety of the dream was, it was at the finish he realized the truth. The truth that, as Julia had explained to him, he had not been able to face before he was ready. He was ready now. For the moment there was no confusion, and he did not wish to fight it. The truth brought him peace, but made it no easier to sleep. He understood at last, with all the new complications and fears that came with it: he loved her.


	34. Chapter 34

Julia awoke to light streaming in through the bedroom window. She shut her eyes again, scowling – too bright. Typically she woke up as quickly and efficiently as she did most things, but never cheerfully. For her the sunrise was not a particularly exalting experience, the prospect of the dawn in itself no source of inspiration. It had come to mean more to her only knowing what it meant to Barnabas, but speaking strictly for herself she required at least two cups of coffee to get the same charge out of the day. Groaning slightly, she turned on her other side to escape the harsh light and adjust herself to the ordeal of consciousness.

She found the sight on that side was no more acclimating than the sun – equally startling at first glance, but desired after all on the second. She was used to turning over and finding the bed empty, or, less often, finding him still asleep beside her. It was unprecedented to find him lying there awake – unprecedented, but not unwelcome.

"That's a first." She spoke her mind.

"What is?" he asked absently, his voice still thick from sleep.

"Waking up next to you."

"I wasn't in any rush this morning." He tried to smile at her, but it came across almost a grimace, he was so wound up with nerves. He had slept very little the night before, driving himself crazy with thoughts he was sure she would effortlessly put to rest the moment he was able to speak to her again. Now that he could, he found himself tongue-tied. 

"Are you all right?" she asked, concern clouding her eyes now, his manner saying more than his words.

"Why do you ask? I feel fine," he said, hoping feigned indifference might work better until he could collect his thoughts.

She smiled wryly, but didn't seem convinced. "Perhaps it's getting to be a knee-jerk reaction with me. But you do look – worried about something."

"Perhaps that is too frequently the case. But no, nothing in particular is troubling me today." He gave her a long look, assessing her now as much as his own thoughts and feelings. "As a matter of fact, I feel particularly well today."

He saw her concern turn to skepticism; she regarded him with a characteristic expression, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised. She was the same Julia he had said goodnight to mere hours ago. Funny how different she looked to him now.

"I still don't think you look very well. Perhaps you're coming down with something – you can now, you know," she added, not wanting or needing to add 'now that you're human again.' She reached out to touch his forehead to feel for a fever.

Taken aback by the gesture, he flinched slightly, then closed his eyes softly, enjoying the gentle touch of her hand, even if she was only seeing him as a patient for the moment.

"No, you're all right," she said, withdrawing her hand. She allowed her fingertips to brush his cheek as she did so.

His heart leapt. What a fool he'd been not to delight in her little touches for so long, all those unassuming, warm but restrained ways she had of playing with his sleeve or his lapels; or then again he must have, to so clearly remember them now, but always quite unconsciously. _*Fool!*_ he thought again. But he could only laugh at his blindness, now; for once he was not too fixated on regrets about the past to think about the future. 

"Julia–" he began, but found his confidence had abandoned him when the moment came to speak it.

"What is it, Barnabas?" Her confusion at his mood and behavior threatened to evolve into irritation, but she tried to keep her voice even, in the event that something really was wrong.

"Nothing – nevermind." He gave up on words, for the moment, and relaxed into the simple comfort of being with her. There was another thing – new and yet not new. Hadn't he said it himself, that she was the only thing in the world that felt real to him? _Fool..._

Something in the way he was looking at her made her suddenly conscious again of the bright light and its way of revealing everything. She pulled the sheet more tightly around her. It was different, somehow, at night: the lighting lower, both of them quickly diving under blankets. He had never seen so much as her bare arms by the light of day, nor her face without makeup, or her hair undone. She was aware of every wrinkle, every flaw, none of which much bothered her usually but now, under his gaze, she felt naked. Why – he wasn't scrutinizing her, exactly, not judging her. Probably not thinking anything of it; would it even occur to him to see her body as something to judge, whether favorably or unfavorably? But she did feel naked, uncomfortable... and he did watch her, and he smiled. Flustered, she sat up carefully, awkwardly keeping the sheet close to her as she reached for her robe. 

Grudgingly, Barnabas raised himself halfway to a sitting position, supporting his head on one hand. He did not look away as he supposed he should have, as he understood she wished he would. He couldn't help but admire the way she looked in the morning light, a way she'd never let him see before. A way he had never seen any woman before, come to that, a lifetime ago having only sought out young women he could leave as soon as he'd finished with them, or on the other hand young women who sufficed for adornment and polite conversation and little else. Those pleasures he had understood but somehow, obvious as it seemed now, he had missed this: waking up next to a woman and finding her pleasantly disheveled from sleep. It seemed to him the most natural pleasure in the world, and she was so natural. She was beautiful.

She turned halfway around again, looking at him over her shoulder, lightheartedly mocking him, "Are you going to stay there all day?"

"I could..." He trailed off and looked away, fighting off a smile and losing. 

"You're acting very strangely," she observed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he said, "Perhaps I do feel a bit different today, but I don't think it's anything at all _strange_."

Finding it much too early for riddles, she stood and began to walk toward the door. "Oh – well, I'm going to need some coffee before I can start to figure that one out."

He was suddenly anxious that she not go before he had made himself plain, somehow. He called after her, "Julia –" 

She flashed him a quick smile at the door. "Come downstairs and we'll talk," she said, and left.

He sighed, letting his head fall to the pillow again. That had not gone well. He would have to find his courage. He found he felt more courageous by day than he had the night before, but it would take a good deal more. A difficult notion when the thing that gave him confidence was the very thing that terrified him: her. 

Looking over at the space in their bed she had just left, he thought perhaps it was just as well. It would have been awkward to declare himself in bed, anyhow – that was the wrong way around things. No harm could come in waiting for the right moment, surely, and no good would come from rushing it. Resolved, he rose to join her downstairs.


	35. Chapter 35

One cup of coffee down and the second one begun, Julia had put Barnabas' strange behavior out of her mind, as she was well-accustomed to doing. She puttered about the kitchen, trying to balance the toaster, a skillet of scrambled eggs and another of bacon all at once, while absentmindedly keeping up a conversation with Amy, who was sitting at the table. She wondered whether the other Julia had ever developed a knack for this, or if she always felt a little bit Lucy Ricardo about it.

"What did you say, sweetheart?" Julia asked distractedly as she threw out two slices of burnt toast and started over again.

"I _sa-aid_ –" Julia could hear the sarcasm unique to the preteen girl dripping from her voice– "do you know what you're wearing tonight?"

"Oh..." Julia trailed off, not having thought about it and with no time to think about it now. "I don't know–"

Amy interrupted her, her tone now changed to one of good-natured teasing. "Why are you just standing there?"

Confused, Julia whirled around to see Barnabas standing at the door, leaning against the frame and indeed looking as if he were in no rush to come or go. Catching his eye briefly, they shared an awkward smile. She turned back to the stove quickly, not sure why everything he did was making her feel so nervous this morning.

Barnabas crossed his arms, standing his ground, fixing Amy with an expression of pretended sternness. "Good morning to you, too, Amy. Is that all the greeting you have for me?"

"Good morning," she singsonged, but did not relent. She plainly enjoying needling him. "Why are you staring at her?"

Julia froze, surprised but interested, her back to them both, waiting to hear his response. Barnabas put one finger to his lips in a silencing gesture, while winking at Amy to establish a conspiracy between them.

Amy mirthfully rejected it, continuing her interrogation. "Is it because today is your anniversary?"

Julia continued listening, pretending she was not. She was content to let Barnabas take the heat for the moment. 

He shook his head in mock disapproval at Amy's betrayal and said, "Perhaps it is."

Amy grinned as if she had just called checkmate. "Well?"

Barnabas was mystified. "Well, what?"

Amy bounced in her chair and all but squealed, "Aren't you going to kiss her, then?"

Barnabas shrugged and smiled again. Julia tensed, her back still to them, neither hearing his response nor seeing his approach. Even bracing herself, she was startled when he was upon her, close enough to take in the scent of him and feel his breath hot on her skin. Flustered, she dropped the spatula and it clattered to the floor. He steadied her with one hand to her elbow, and gave her a reassuring smile. "Happy anniversary," he whispered, but gave her a long look, as if to revoke the words that were lies between them and insert ones that were true but as yet unspoken. He bent down to kiss her, on the cheek, but lingeringly. 

The sound of the toast popping up almost made her jump out of her skin. She skittered out of his embrace and attended to the toast.

Barnabas turned back to Amy, raising his eyebrows, as if to ask was she satisfied? The smirk she wore told him she was.

Hearing Julia rummaging through a drawer for some implement or other, he offered, "Can I help you, Julia?"

She was grateful, but unused to delegating. She almost had everything sorted out and knew he would only be in the way. Still she hated to refuse him, and struggled to think of something. "Oh – grab the butter and the jam from the fridge?"

He did as he was instructed, but almost ran right into her as he turned to place them on the table. They both stepped back and laughed.

She barked her next order, "Plates?" He took this one in stride, taking them down from the cabinet but hanging back until she crossed his path before proceeding to set the table. Amy continued to watch them both, enjoying their halting choreography.

As he turned back he almost ran into her again, but called out, "Behind you! – I'll get the silverware."

"Thanks," she said, laughing, loosening up as they went.

"My pleasure," he said, glad to be of some use to her.

Over the years, it had disturbed him to see her in distress, and calmed him to see her in complete control. But he found her in domestic disarray utterly charming, bustling to and fro, just barely containing the chaos. And he enjoyed her sigh of relief when the last plate was set on the table, and her evident pride in organizing it all to success. 

She noticed him watching her and blushed, the smile of pride turning to one of embarrassment. She took her seat, and motioned for him to do the same. He complied, and dished out a plate of food first to Amy, then to Julia, and then for himself. For a moment, they were the picture of a perfect family.

Out of nowhere, Amy asked, "Can I take my dress for tonight with me to Collinwood when I go to my lessons?"

Julia's eyebrows went up at what struck her as a very strange question. "Why would you want to do that? There's plenty of time to come back here and change before the party."

"I was thinking you two should come alone together – like a date!" Amy exclaimed.

Julia shook her head, astonished by the girl's romantic ideas. "Who will do your hair and get you ready?"

Amy was clearly trying hard to present it as a completely sensible and bulletproof plan. "I'll get everything ready now, and I'll be no trouble to Mrs. Stoddard – and you can do my hair before I go."

Julia protested, "You'll get it all messed up!"

"I won't, I promise! I won't even play outside today!" Amy's eyes went wide and earnest as she pleaded her case.

Julia sighed, still finding the idea silly but unable to think of any further objections. She exchanged a look with Barnabas to see if he had any. He shrugged and smiled, clearly not of a mind to argue. Amy looked from one to the other expectantly. 

Julia attempted to at least put a condition on the proposition. "Well, you can't walk with it – I'll have to drive you."

"No, I want to walk, please," Amy insisted.

"Why?" Julia pressed her.

"I just want you two to enjoy your whole day together," Amy said.

Julia was disarmed by Amy's sentiments, reaching out to touch her hand. "We enjoy spending our day with you, too, you know."

Barnabas said softly, "It's important to her, let her go."

Julia pulled back, regarding first Barnabas and then Amy. His face was all indulgence. So he would be the permissive one, and it would fall to her to be the strict one. But she gave in: "All right." 

Amy squirmed in her seat in celebration.

Julia sighed again, pretending it was a serious allowance on her part. "Well, if you're done, you'd better go on and get everything together. I'll be up in a minute to fix your hair."

Needing no further encouragement, Amy scurried off to do just that.

Once she was out of earshot, Julia turned to Barnabas and said, "This is just the beginning, you know. Tonight will be just like that – times twenty."

He shrugged, still smiling. "I don't mind very much."

Julia gave him a mangled sort of smile, then got up to clear the table. She would mind, try as she might not to. She would mind very much. Acting out the part of a happily married couple, where he was truly acting and she was not, was a painful prospect. She focused on what she was doing, keeping her hands busy and her mind off the thought of how it would feel to stand next to him, accepting congratulations, listening to anecdotes, pretending she was only pretending as she looked at him with the love she truly felt... She stopped herself right there, methodically stacking the dishes, rinsing them, and placing them in the sink. One step at a time, keep busy, think of the task at hand, and she would get through the day.

Barnabas leaned back in his chair and watched her work, now with her usual efficiency. He admired this, too. He was amazed still to think he was only now consciously noticing everything that had been right in front of him for so long. He should help her, he thought, and he would – in a minute, or next time, at any rate. In the future... might they have a future of mornings like this? If he chose to, could he go to her now – and begin that future? He found he relished the thought too much to relinquish it so soon. It was satisfying, for the moment, to simply entertain the thought. He enjoyed knowing something she did not for a change. No, he would not mind acting out the part that night, except in the sense that there should be no mistake about just who he was thinking of this time. He couldn't risk her thinking he was pretending when he...

"Well, I'll go see how Amy's coming along," Julia said, brushing by him, startling him from his thoughts.

"All right–" He stood awkwardly, finding again it was much easier to passively think of her than to confront her directly. "Shall I put on another pot of coffee?"

"Sure," she said, turning back to smile at him briefly, then left. 

There must be no mistake about it this time, he thought again, watching her go. Last time... he had made a mess of it, proposing to Julia that they "try." It was a desperate, unthinking move in a long line of desperate, unthinking moves. She had refused him, rightly. It was an ugly word, an insulting word. He thought about that terrible scene now, and how he had hurt her, how little he had understood it then. She told him it was no good unless he figured it out himself. He understood now, he thought... but was it only the word that had hurt her, or the offer altogether? The circumstances and conditions around which he had offered himself, or that he had at all?

For the first time since the lightning bolt struck him, it occurred to him that it could possibly be too late, not enough. She had loved him, once, and he knew it – hard as he tried over the years to pretend he did not, he knew it. But it might be his relentless egotism at work to think that she still did – and his relentless self-deception to think he deserved her after all he'd done. He awoke that morning thinking his love for her would be the beginning and the end of it – that it merely fell to him to announce it, and naturally she would fall into his arms. For the first time, now, it occurred to him it might not be as simple as that.

He was going to lurch from one extreme to another until he talked it out with her, he knew it: this, too, was nothing new. She was the only one who could make this easy on him. But she was exactly the one making this so difficult.


	36. Chapter 36

Julia sat behind Amy on the girl's bed, brushing her hair in long strokes. "Have I ever told you my grandmother used to brush my hair this way? My hair used to be as long as yours when I was your age, but not nearly as soft and straight. She said she could work at it for hours and it would never be manageable, but I loved to have her brush it."

Amy giggled and said, "Yes, you've told me – about a thousand times."

"Oh," Julia smiled. It was nice to imagine she shared this in common with the other Julia, both the memories and the storytelling habits.

"But I like it when you retell your stories," Amy said enthusiastically. "Tell me the one about how Daddy proposed to you again."

"Oh, well–" That was a story she could not tell. If she allowed herself, and if she wouldn't be caught in an obvious lie, she could invent a story of how she would like to be proposed to. But she never permitted her thoughts to drift there, not even when she was alone with them, and certainly not for anyone else's benefit. "Why don't you ask me one you've never heard before?"

"Okay... How about..." Amy tried hard to think of a good one, her eyes rolling to the ceiling thoughtfully. "When did you first realize you were in love with him?"

"I never told you about that?" 

"Nope!"

"Well, that's an easy one," Julia said, keeping her voice bright although her eyes, which the girl could not see, had taken on a sad quality. It was a simple enough story to tell, but not easy to say. "Almost from the first time I met him."

Amy's face lit up. She was a natural romantic. "Really?"

Julia rethought and corrected herself. "No, that's not quite true – you asked me when I _realized_ it. That took me a little longer. But not much longer – you know I'm not a very delusional person, right?"

Amy laughed as if she knew very well. "No."

"Well, when I first met Barnabas, I had a one-track mind. I was only thinking about my career, medicine. I believed he would help me with my career. That's the only reason I thought I was interested in him, at first."

"But he swept you off your feet?" Amy supplied.

Julia laughed, a bitterness to it that Amy did not detect. "No, not exactly. Actually, in the beginning, we weren't very nice to each other. Maybe that's part of why we were so unkind: we felt something we weren't expecting to, or didn't want to." She shook her head sadly, grateful Amy couldn't see her face. She never would have been able to keep it straight. "I can only speak for myself. Falling in love with your father wasn't in the plan. Not at all..."

Amy persisted, "But wasn't there a moment, a moment when you just... _knew_?"

"You know, I don't think most people have that sort of moment, like you see in the movies. For me, it happened gradually. So that I didn't even notice, until it had become just a part of me, as much a part of me as my own skin."

Amy sighed, practically swooning. Julia shook her head again, at the thought of anyone regarding her relationship with Barnabas as a love story for the ages. Even for the Barnabas and Julia of this time, it could never have been easy – and it seemed they were barely hanging on. 

Leaning back to regard her own work, Julia announced, "You're done!" She put her hands on the girl's shoulders and led her over to the dressing table mirror, holding up a hand mirror so she could see the back, a perfect, tight French twist that Amy couldn't undo even if David did chase her all over the grounds. Julia was impressed with herself, that her fingers remembered how after so many years. "You look like such a little lady – which you are."

Amy beamed. "I won't mess it up, I promise."

Julia laughed. "I know you won't sweetheart. Which dress are you taking?"

"My pink polka-dotted one," Amy said, walking to the door, where she had hung a garment bag. "I already have it packed and ready."

"Well, then, I guess you're all set," Julia said, resigned to Amy's plan to set up a romantic day that would not happen.

"I am!" She hugged Julia quickly but fiercely, then grabbed the bag and dashed out the door, calling behind her, "Bye Mom! Gotta go!"

Laughing, Julia followed Amy out of her room more slowly and descended the stairs after her. She saw Amy hug Barnabas and leave the house the same way.

Barnabas met Julia at the foot of the stairs, holding a pair of mugs. He suggested, "Shall we take our coffee in the garden? We haven't in the last few days. I miss it."

She regarded him warily, concerned Amy's romantic notions about the day they ought to spend together had gone to his head. She needed him to be on the same page with her at least. But she found nothing to concern her in his expression; in fact, for almost the first time that morning, he put her at ease. She accepted the cup of coffee and said simply, "All right."

\-----------------------

 

Sitting next to Julia on the garden bench, Barnabas made up his mind to wait for the right moment, but committed to himself that moment would come before another day passed them by. He had wasted too much time already. He would wait still longer, he would wait forever if she willed it, but he would not wait out of his own cowardice or foolishness. Certain of that much, he felt the fear drain from him; and sitting next to her, he was left with only the simple joy of being with her. It freed him to decide simply to love her, and leave the rest to her. And it relieved him of the pressure to find the correct words and the correct time; he felt sure they would come. Meanwhile, he would simply enjoy the day, with her.

"I've been thinking about fixing the Old House gardens up again," Barnabas said. "In our own time, I mean."

She looked up at him, surprised, but pleased. She observed, "You're sounding more optimistic."

"I'm feeling more optimistic." He smiled back, watching her reaction carefully. "I never really thought about it before. When I was young, the gardens were simply kept up; I never thought of the team of servants it required. I certainly never thought of getting my own hands dirty. And since I've been in this century, of course, there's been no time."

She laughed knowingly; the events of the last few years weren't much to laugh at, but if she couldn't laugh... "I think it would be good for you. I often recommended that to my patients – it's a good idea to have one rather mindless hobby, take your mind off the stress of living."

"Have you ever had a mindless hobby?" he asked in a teasing voice.

"No, I suppose I haven't," she shook her head, laughing at herself now. "Physician heal thyself, eh?"

He suggested, "Perhaps when we return, you could help me."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "Oh, I don't really see us spending our days among the rosebushes, do you?" 

"Certainly, I can," he said softly. "They're thorny as well as lovely, too."

She laughed right out loud at this remark, but was surprised to see him looking back at her in complete earnest. A flutter of nerves coursed through her again and cut her laughter short. The feeling was familiar but long suppressed – a feeling he had once inspired, but which she had learned through experience she had entertained in vain. Why couldn't she keep that feeling at bay today? If she didn't watch herself, she could very easily believe he was doing it on purpose. She sat back against the garden bench again, shoulder to shoulder with him. 

She changed the subject, having no sense of where the present one was leading. "Oh... what have we gotten ourselves into tonight? Amy just gave us a taste of it. It's not going to let up all night."

"I'm not concerned about everyone looking on us as a couple. That I can suffer, with you," he said, a note of jest in his utterance of the word 'suffer.' "What I think may be difficult is seeing everyone, all at once – it's been hard enough to encounter them one at a time."

She nodded, feeling much the same about it. "But maybe we should look at it another way. Not as an ordeal, but as a cleansing experience."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're not the same people as in our time, it's true, but our own... experiences with them were similar. And we won't ever have a chance to speak to them in our time, the people we've wronged, or have regrets about. Vicky, Maggie, Dave..." She trailed off, shuddering at the last name. She knew there was a far distance between making the suggestion and carrying it out. "We can't apologize exactly, and we can't change things, but perhaps really talking to them will be good for us, to heal."

Barnabas nodded slowly. It seemed a terrifying proposition to him, too; suddenly much more terrifying than the other objective he had set out for himself that day. Terrifying, but perhaps it could help to heal. He wanted that now, now that he was more invested in a future to heal for than a past of old wounds to pick at. His head was swimming, but he simply agreed, "Yes, perhaps that would be good for us." He paused for a moment, looking at her steadily, waiting for her to meet his gaze before continuing. When he did lock his eyes on hers, he added, "Perhaps we can put a few things right tonight."

The more he thought about it, the harder the road ahead looked. It wasn't simply a matter of how he felt about her and how she felt about him – and that would have been challenge enough. It was larger than them, encompassing all the ghosts of their past, all the misdeeds and little betrayals, and compounded with time. But he didn't feel desperate about it; that seemed a good sign. He knew what he had to do, and he was prepared to do it. 

Barnabas set down his coffee cup and turned to her with a sense of renewed energy. "So, what shall we do today?"

She shook her head, shrugging. "I'll be honest, Barnabas. I'm out of ideas, whether in trying to get home or trying to understand what's going on here."

He said, "We've been spinning our wheels, running around, trying to unravel the mysteries of this time. I have an idea that we might simply... relax, for one day."

"Can we afford taking a day to relax? If Elliot is right, every day we stay here may be a little bit more risky." She said the words, but didn't seem to have much real protest in her.

He countered, "Sometimes inspiration strikes when you stop concentrating on a problem, isn't that right?"

"That's very wise," she said, teasing him. "Well, what do you suggest, then?"

He looked off, as if only musing, as if he did not already have a very definite idea in mind. "Do you realize, in all the years we've known one another, we've never really spent a quiet day alone together?"

"Oh–" she began, intending to argue with him, but having to give it up. It was true. "Well, I guess you're right. There's always been one crisis after another."

He nodded. "And they say you can see a person's true nature in a crisis. It's probably true. We've learned a few things about one another in those crises, haven't we?" He studied her again; her smile was her agreement, but it was a sad smile. It broke his heart to see. He continued, quietly, "But all the same, I don't think you can really know someone except in quiet moments..."

She looked away. Things had a way of going awry in the rare quiet moment they had shared since finding themselves in this time. She knew his thoughts had a way of running away with him. And were they running away with him today – or were hers, with her? Against her better judgment, and almost wincing as she did so, she said, "What shall we do, then, for a quiet moment?"

He sat up a bit straighter, unconsciously adopting a posture better suited to courting. "I'd like to take you out – buy you a new dress for tonight, perhaps."

She was taken aback, finding again her will to protest. "There are plenty of nice dresses upstairs, most new to me."

He persisted. "I want it to be something you pick out."

"Barnabas, that's silly, there's no reason–" She found she had no good argument to use against a suggestion that seemed so absurd.

He continued to speak in completely reasonable tones, making it increasingly difficult for her to object. "If we have to pretend to be other people all night, we ought to have a few things that remind of us of ourselves..."

"A dress isn't going to make such a difference to me," she said emphatically, but he could tell she was not really fighting him, only needed him to understand her side.

He looked at her seriously and spoke seriously, also needing her to understand his side. "I don't want there to be any confusion about who we are tonight, between you and me."

It seemed wholly unnecessary to her, but the spirit of the thing was right. The spirit of the thing was so exactly what she wanted from him... Accepting this, she said simply, "All right." It occurred to her as she said it, the phrase was becoming a habit with her.

Emboldened, he pressed his luck. "I have an even better idea – why don't we go to Bangor? We have enough time for a trip."

She looked over at him and saw he was completely serious. It seemed to mean something to him, and after all, why not? But she knew very well why not. She knew she was in very definite danger of believing he could want what she wanted. Fleetingly, she thought, she should say no, keep things simple, keep things safe, focus on what was important.

Raising her head and smiling defiantly, she said again, "All right."

In defiance of what, exactly, she wondered. Herself, she realized, as her smile grew into a kind of a smirk. She would regret all of this later. She had come to regret it before. But just for the moment, just for the day perhaps, she might choose to silence what she otherwise called her better judgment.

"All right," he agreed, breaking into a grin he gave up suppressing himself. It was more than a new dress and a new place, but it seemed right, to start someplace new, someplace with no associations for them in their own time, or for other people in this. Someplace where they could simply be themselves, together, with nothing and no one else to interfere. Then and there, perhaps, he would find the moment he was waiting for.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I completely reject the gravestone in 1970PT making Barnabas 25 years old, relying instead on Jeremiah's remark that he and Barnabas were "about the same age," because 30 is the absolutely youngest I can suspend my disbelief at dear JFrid playing. :)

It was a lovely day for a daytrip, walking aimlessly up and down the streets of downtown Bangor. They did as they pleased, window shopping, chatting about nothing in particular, basking in the bright sunlight which made the day feel warmer than it actually was. Or perhaps it was the company.

"I haven't been here since I was a young man," Barnabas remarked.

Julia mused wryly, "It's funny, all the times Willie and I kept visitors at bay, saying you were in Bangor on business." A beat later, the meaning of her words having sunk in, both looked to the other to see how the remark had been said and taken – lightly, in both cases. 

They could joke about it, somehow. Perhaps it was perverse, but it was encouraging. 

"Some of the streets are the same, but everything looks so different..." He looked around in wonder, modern Bangor being as close to a big-city experience as he had had in the 20th century.

She regarded him slyly. "When you say 'since I was a young man,' when do you mean, exactly?" 

He thought back – way back. "Oh, I suppose I was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight the last time I was here."

"Only a couple years before..." she trailed off, the point having been made without finishing her sentence.

He laughed lightly – yes, he could joke about it. "Funny, how different my sense of time is from most men."

"I always wondered if you still felt like a man of thirty," she grinned back at him, teasing. 

He chuckled, feeling a bit embarrassed. He well knew why. "I don't know what I feel like. Perhaps, for a long time, I felt like I had been cheated out of the years I should have had. But the... experience certainly wearied me, aged me. I don't think I feel thirty any more than I feel two hundred," he lowered his voice at that last, although the passers-by paid them no attention. "What age do you suppose I am?"

"I can't decide that for you," she said, declining to answer.

He insisted. "Speaking as a doctor, then, what do you think?"

She looked at him levelly, regarding his face and body critically, thinking back on her years of medical notes. "Well, I'd say you were about forty-five."

He swallowed hard; that was a difficult number for his ego to absorb. "Forty-five..." he mused, as if trying it on for size.

She tried to contain her laughter. "You couldn't pass for thirty, I'm sorry."

"Well, I know that," he snapped back, but good-naturedly. He recognized his vanity and knew was another thing he would have to lay to rest. "I can manage forty-five. There's still a lot of life left, at forty-five."

"I should think so!" she exclaimed, not holding back her laughter this time.

He accepted that she was laughing at him; he had it coming. He had a streak of the ridiculous in him. And if it made her laugh rather than throw up her hands in exasperation, he was grateful. Over the years, there had been few occasions to observe her in true mirth. Now, she threw back her head, clutching at his arm spontaneously; again he reflected how beautiful she was, as if seeing her anew. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms then and there. But not yet, not yet: he would know the moment when it came. 

He stole a sideways glance at their reflection in a shop window. They looked about the same, truthfully. They looked like a handsome middle-aged couple. His mind conjured up the image of the other girls he had chased over the years and imagined how silly they would have looked next to him. Not that it ought to matter, one way or another, if it were right. But this, incidentally, happened to feel right. They were the same.

He took the hand that clutched at his sleeve and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. She stopped laughing abruptly, and looked up at him questioningly. He looked down at her and smiled as if it were nothing. She seemed to accept this, and slid her arm around his as they walked on together down Water Street.

Julia looked away as she relaxed against his arm, and feigned an interest a group of children across the street. It would be too easy to relax entirely into the warmth of his body, and of his mood today. If she did not watch herself her mind might run away with her, but she watched herself very closely. She had had to learn to. In the beginning, she might have taken his behavior as flirtation, and in the years since she might have been momentarily fooled by his mercurial nature. But she was long past falling for it, and held out no hope. She saw things as they were, and enjoyed them for that alone. She enjoyed walking arm in arm with him down a quaint street on a beautiful spring day – that was all. That was a fine thing in itself.

She hated to think of herself forever reacting to his moves, accepting only what he offered her, asking for no more. But she understood the status of their relationship. She had told him as much, once; she always had understood. Better than he had. Oh, she possessed certain parts of him no one else ever would, and she knew he loved her, in a way. Their relationship was unusual, frequently difficult, and not all she wanted, but it was dear to her. She did accept what she could have, and stopped herself thinking about the rest of it – most of the time. But did it really not occur to him what she might think when he took her hand that way, and smiled at her that way...?

It wasn't in her nature to let him define the parameters of their relationship, not really playing along, only calling foul when he crossed the line. She hadn't done it very gracefully and the circumstances couldn't have been more wrong, but she had made it plain to him how she felt, at one time. She had put her feelings on the line as much as she could bear to. Yes, she could call his bluff now but where would it get her? She was an all or nothing person in some respects but in this one she would take him as is.

She turned back toward him, her hip inadvertently brushing against his. She saw him smile. It did hurt to be so close to the man she loved, knowing she was alone in it even as they were together. But it was a fine sort of pain; she had known real pain, and she knew the difference. She wasn't a victim of anything. She knew what she was in for with him. Besides, it would change very little if he did love her, really love her: wouldn't they still just be walking down Water Street arm in arm, if he did? But those were the very thoughts she protected herself from, and she stopped it there: cleanly, efficiently.

He stopped suddenly at a window display, peering in. "This looks like a nice little shop. Shall we look?"

She grimaced, looking at these dresses that looked much too... well, girlish, if it came to that, for her. Was this how he saw her? How did he see her? Did he see her, really, anyway? 

"We've come all this way," he said gently, watching her looking uncomfortable, wishing she wouldn't.

She turned to him and said, as if to dismiss the whole thing, "You don't want to help me shop for a dress."

Now he struggled to suppress his smile, thinking he understood quite well. "Do you not want me to help you shop for a dress?"

"No, it's not that–" She seemed irritated, but he understood it was not with him. Or if it was because of him... if he had in any way through the years put these completely baseless thoughts into her head, he must undo it now.

"I would be delighted to help you," he said in his most gallant manner, then added, "Let's just look."

He held the door open for her and followed her in, letting her set the pace. She cut a circuitous path through the boutique, noncommittally, here and there gingerly touching the fabric of a dress and letting it fall. He wandered behind her, close at hand should she want him, far enough off not to pressure her. After a while, she said, "I don't know, Barnabas, these are all a little... young for me."

He was slightly amused at what seemed a role reversal between them. "Young? What do you suppose you are?"

She turned back to him, eyebrows raised in challenge. "What do _you_ suppose I am?"

Before he could answer, a shopgirl, cheerful and all of twenty, approached them and asked brightly, "Can I help you find anything?"

Julia started to refuse, but before she could speak Barnabas said, "We're looking for a dress for this evening. For an anniversary party."

"Certainly," the girl smiled, looking from Barnabas to Julia, sizing them both up. "I'm Jean. I'll be happy to help you. Is the party fancy?"

Julia scowled. "Fancier than we would like, I'm sure."

Jean looked Julia up and down. She was professional and sincere. Making up her mind, she said, motioning for them to follow her down an aisle, "If you don't mind, I think you'll find something you like over here..." 

Julia whispered to Barnabas, under her breath, "She's taking us to the old lady dresses."

He laughed but swatted at her gently, dismissing the thought.

Jean made conversation as they walked. "Do you have a favorite color?"

"Oh, I wear a lot of blue, brown..." Julia said absently, still making faces at the dresses they passed.

Barnabas stopped suddenly. "What about silver? Like this?" He held up what he considered to be a promising candidate.

Jean nodded encouragingly. "Oh! that would set off your wife's hair color nicely."

Barnabas grinned back at Jean, pleased to be found a natural at judging modern fashion, and particularly as it suited his companion. "Yes, and her skin. And her eyes."

Julia shook her head and turned away allowing herself a small smile the other two could not see. She did not see herself in the silver dress, but if he did, she would not discourage him altogether.

Jean continued to collect information. "Do you have any particular style in mind? A neckline you prefer?"

Julia sighed. "I don't know. It's been years since I've had to wear anything formal."

"Sleeveless," Barnabas specified, almost reflexively. If she did not have any particular opinions, he found he had.

Julia raised her eyebrows, flattered in spite of herself. Had he indeed noticed her arms that morning? Shaking off the thought and making her face impassive again, she turned to see the one they were looking at. She frowned again, saying, "Oh, I don't think I'd feel comfortable in anything like that."

Barnabas understood and interpreted for Jean's benefit. "Perhaps something a little less in the front, more in the back." Less what, he was too much a gentleman to say. 

Julia flashed him another death glare he did not see, deep in concentration with the shopgirl. She turned away again, looking without much interest at a different rack of dresses, thinking Jean was just his type.

A few minutes later, Barnabas approached her, a dress in opalescent white draped over one arm. He held it out to her and said, "Try this one on. Trust me."

She shrugged as if it were a matter of complete indifference to her, but before he let her go he grasped her wrist gently, brushing her skin lightly with his thumb. He fixed her with a smile and did not let her go until she returned it – which did not take but an instant. As much as he doubted himself, he could not then doubt the effect he had on her. And surprised to see her entertain any doubts about herself, he hoped he had managed to put them all to rest then and there. He left very little room for interpretation with the look he gave her.

Julia accepted the dress and retreated to the changing room. She was by this time only putting on a show of resistance. In reality, she was floating. She disrobed and slipped into the dress Barnabas had selected for her – sleeveless as he had requested, and dipping lower than she might have independently dared in the back. She regarded herself critically. She had nothing to say against the dress, or herself in it: she would admit, if only to herself, that she did look rather stunning in it. Certainly it was far from an 'old lady dress.' It was just right. And she was flattered that he had picked it out. She was flattered if he saw her this way.

That was what she questioned: did she want the dress to make an impression on him? so what if she did? was there any harm in being flattered? She laughed at herself, seeing how counter-productive it was. She focused on her reflection in the mirror rather than her reflection in his eyes. In the mirror, it began and ended at the fact that the dress suited her, and she liked it very much. But her thoughts would not be pinned into place. If he liked it, too... if he liked it on her... well, what was the harm?

Julia heard a knock at the door and Jean announce herself, "Would you like a second opinion?"

Julia gave herself another self-satisfied smile, briefly, dropping it before she called back, "Yes, come on in."

Jean entered, closing the door carefully behind her. Her face lit up as she saw the dress on her customer, adopting a self-satisfied smile of her own for having helped select the obviously perfect garment. She gushed, "Oh, you look lovely in this! It doesn't need a single alteration."

Julia smiled faintly, but did not deny it. The girl was paid to say things like that, but it wasn't her approval she wanted anyhow. It was her own, first of all. If Barnabas' came a close second, she had no regrets about it.

Jean continued, "Your husband has good taste. Or he just knows what suits you."

Julia turned this way and that, enjoying the way the skirt flitted about her ankles. "He does know me well. Perhaps better than I give him credit for."

"It's easy to forget when you've been together long enough. But they always do surprise you." Jean spoke with pretended wisdom she could not have possessed at her age. She could not have had the least clue about Julia and Barnabas, come to that. She asked innocently enough, "How long have you been married?"

Julia smirked, "Not as long as you'd think." Caught up in the moment, giddy perhaps, Julia turned to regard Jean directly, casting a glance over one shoulder. "How long would you think?"

Jean leaned against the door, and smiled back at Julia. If she was merely selling something, she did a damned good job. "I don't know – I can only say it would be very hard for me to imagine the two of you not together."

Julia turned back to regard herself in the mirror, not bothering to hide her feelings for a moment. She positively beamed. She said, "All right. I'll take it."

Julia changed back into the clothes she came in, handing the dress back to Jean. She emerged from the dressing room to find Barnabas waiting just outside, an expectant look on his face which dropped almost comically as he laid eyes on her. 

"You aren't going to show me?" he lamented, frowning slightly.

She was amused by his evident disappointment, brushing past him as she followed Jean to the register. "You'll see it soon enough," she said rather huskily as she passed him.

His breath caught in his throat as she drifted by him, noticing the faint smell of her perfume, intoxicating; her body close, a dare. He could have touched her but did not. He watched her walk away, enjoying the pleasure and pain of that as well. He still looked for his moment, and he swore he would seize it when he found it. In the meantime, he absorbed every detail of this feeling that passed between them that might never come quite the same again, whatever greater pleasures it might give way to. For the moment, she was driving him quite pleasantly out of his mind.


	38. Chapter 38

Barnabas and Julia made arrangements to pick up the dress on their way out of town. He noticed she left the shop with a spring in her step that hadn't been present when she entered, but it seemed to embarrass her slightly, and he let it go unremarked. He accepted the simple thank you and smile she offered him, keeping his delight at the rest of what he knew to himself. 

They passed the afternoon unhurried and untroubled, chatting about nothing in particular over a light lunch, sharing his stories of youthful trips to Bangor as they continued to wander aimlessly around town, successfully putting their worries in this time and their own aside. He tried to contain his urges to reach out to her, to flirt with and charm her – not easy for him, being a natural romantic. But he saw how his gestures confused and unsettled her. And he wanted to test the waters gently.

It had been a lovely day, but that was only part of his objective. He had set out to test other waters, too; murkier, rougher waters. It risked ruining the whole day, but it seemed essential – for the sake of all their tomorrows.

Barnabas cleared his throat nervously and suggested they take a stroll along the waterfront. Julia could see his mood had turned more serious, and agreed without question, knowing he would take his own time to come around to it.

She was grateful to him for taking her out, and he had succeeded in taking her mind off of things, if that was his intention. Whether it would serve them well or ill in the long run she didn't know, but for once she was content to live in the moment, in moments that seemed so rare, if not unprecedented, between them. Quiet moments, that was what he had said, and that was what they had shared that day, a series of unmarred quiet moments. 

Funny: she didn't suppose they had learned anything new about one another, exactly, but it felt different to be together this way. It was true, although it brought them closer than either had been to any other person, the time they had spent together in the past was borne of necessity and calamity. Today, they were together by choice, two friends sharing a lovely day. Two friends. She repeated it to herself. It would be too easy to misinterpret all of this, his attentiveness, his warmth, his sudden nervousness now as more, but she knew better. 

The wind picked up and grew colder nearer the water; unconsciously, she moved closer to him, shielded by his body. Occasionally as her light frame was buffeted about in a strong breeze, she jostled into him and laughing stepped sideways again, cutting a meandering path upstream. He seemed barely to notice, distracted, slower to laugh. Something weighed heavily on his mind, she knew, and he was waiting for the moment to say it – or perhaps he never would. She was accustomed to these moods of his. Although they boded worse, they were somehow easier to take in stride than his earlier lightness, which was welcome, but so unusual, and promised she knew not what.

The passers-by thinned the further they walked from downtown. She sensed him tense, as if readying himself to speak, no excuse not to remaining. She looked about aimlessly, from the water on her right to the trees, flowering, on her left, carefully maintaining an unexpectant expression.

Barnabas cleared his throat again, and ventured, speaking softly, "There's another reason I wanted to get away today."

"Oh?" she encouraged him, keeping all trace of emotion out of it.

"I wanted to talk to you– I–" He trailed off nervously, then changed course, guiding her over to a railing overlooking the water. She followed him wordlessly. They stopped there; he turned to face her. Taking her cues from him, she looked up at him with a gentle smile. His eyes darkened, becoming still more serious, if it were possible. "Julia, I wondered if perhaps we ought to talk – about Dave Woodard."

She turned away suddenly, involuntarily, as if struck. She looked out over the water, trying to catch her breath, trying to act for his benefit as if she had not lost it in the first place. She responded quietly, matter-of-factly, "I don't know if there's any point in it, Barnabas."

His eyebrows knit together in a pained expression, seeing clearly the reaction she tried to hide from him. He did not want to put her through it again, but he needed to know... "Yesterday, you didn't seem to want to talk about it, and I can accept that. I just thought perhaps we should – or at least I should give you the chance, before–"

"Before what?" She glanced back at him sharply, an edge in her voice he did not expect.

His eyes flitted about nervously; he was not ready to voice his true reason. He said hastily, "Before we see him tonight."

It was a reasonable explanation. If he still had not recognized his true feelings for her, he might still have taken her here today, and asked her the same question, believing that was the only reason.

Julia turned to look blankly at the water and trees beyond again, silent for a long time. He merely stood by her, strong and present, ready to be there for what she needed, meanwhile allowing her to do what she needed to do.

Finally she spoke, again with a directness that chilled him. "I hate myself every day for what I've done."

He fought back his first instinct to protest or plead with her desperately. He fought to keep his tone even, to simply be there for her. "You always tell me not to feel that way."

One corner of her mouth twitched in a failed attempt at a smile, weary and sad, but acknowledging the irony. "I know."

He leaned over the railing, looking out into a beautiful landscape his eyes did not really see, either. "I can't simply tell you not to do that to yourself. I know too well how it feels. But you seem to carry it better than I do."

She shrugged in defeat, in acquiescence to a thing that had become as much a part of her as her own bones. "I've dealt with my own demons, in my own way. There are some things I've done, I can never atone for. But it doesn't stop me from living."

He spoke a bit more forcefully, still careful not to push her, to give her space to explore her feelings and open up to him. But he needed her to acknowledge this much: "You didn't do anything you weren't forced by me to do. I wish you'd remember that." Looking away from her, falling just a bit into his own manner of despair, he added, "And if you do remember, I don't see how you could not loathe me."

She set her jaw, insisting on her interpretation of events, as ready to damn herself as he was himself. "I could have chosen differently. I should rather have died than do what I did. _You_ were compelled by a force beyond your control. I was not."

"Self-preservation _is_ an uncontrollable instinct, Julia," he said, turning back toward her. Coward though he may be he would not turn away from her again, even if he risked seeing the hatred he expected in her eyes. That was, after all, what he had started this to find out. "I would have killed you if you hadn't helped me. That's the truth. You should confront that now. And I would have killed Dave Woodard either way. You made the only rational decision–"

She shook her head helplessly. It was an explanation she had tried out before and found wanting. "I don't always make rational decisions. Why, then, I had to, I don't know. No – I do know. I was more worried about my research, that's part of the truth. And I was more afraid than I thought myself capable of – that was eye-opening; I used to think I was fearless. That's another reason." He could tell she was building up to a third. He waited and let her come to it on her own. "And I did value your life above all else, even then. Not only for science."

She looked at him so honestly then, so nakedly, he thought it might actually break his heart. Her confession, in any other context, would have put all of his fears to rest. In this context, it amplified them unendurably: if she loved him, was it too inextricably linked to this for anything but ugliness and pain to grow from it?

"Julia..." His eyes, full of misery, implored her. She did not look away; it told him at least that she did want to find a path to healing, and that somehow she did not regard him as an impediment to that path. Somehow, she did not hate him. "You can't take all the responsibility for his death on yourself."

"He was my friend. I killed him. What else can I do?"

"I killed him," he insisted, though he knew she would blame herself to the same degree whether she had delivered the fatal blow or not. "You don't even know that you would have, if I had really forced you to."

"I would have. In the end, I know I would have. I would today, if you asked me." At this, he saw tears well in her eyes. She turned away finally, not wanting him to see them.

He moved closer to her. He would not allow her to shut him out now. He said, "I wouldn't ask you."

"That's the only real difference, then." Her voice was steady and steel again, the tears mastered. It terrified him most to see her hold this in.

"Julia..." He reached out to her, the fingertips of one hand lightly grazing her elbow; he did not know what to say.

"You've changed, and I haven't really." Hoarsely, barely above a whisper, she added, "It scares me, what I would do for you."

He relented slightly, deciding it was better to get her to talk about it than to try to argue with her. "Have you felt that way, all these years?"

She nodded slowly, sadly. "I suppose so."

"It scares me to think you see your feelings for me in such a dark way."

"Oh no, Barnabas..." She turned back to him again, suddenly desperate that he not confuse one thing with another. The tears sprang to her eyes again. She couldn't let him misunderstand. Against her will one tear fell and rolled slowly down her cheek.

He took a step closer to her, until there was almost no space left between them, and reached out to brush the tear away with the back of his hand. "You can't turn it all on yourself. You always tell me not to."

She laughed with some difficulty, knowing he was right, turning into his hand and allowing it to caress her cheek. "I know. Easier said than done. I know how you feel, Barnabas, I really do. And I know my pain and regret is only a fraction of what you go through."

"I'm not concerned about myself now. I'm concerned about you," he said softly, looking down at her intently. "Forgive me, for how selfish I have been all these years. I did not think of your pain. I saw it yesterday. I see it now." He drew in a deep breath, trying to stave off his own demons to help her battle her own. He had to come right out and ask the one question that seemed to stand between them now. "Can you truly accept me, knowing that I am the one responsible for the way you feel?"

She leaned closer, close enough now that their brows nearly touched, his bowed head next to her. She squared her shoulders, speaking clearly now, certain of this. "If you're worried that what we share now is tainted forever by where we began, please, don't be. I don't see us that way, and I can't. Yes, I do accept you. Yes, you do help me – perhaps you're the only one who can."

He understood her; he was relieved to know that much, at least. "I believe you're the only one who can help me, too, Julia. I believe we're bound to each other. But not only by these horrors."

"No. Mostly not by these horrors." She pulled away again. Though still tinged with sadness, the smile this reassurance prompted gave him some hope.

Gently, he lifted her chin to focus his solemn eyes on hers. She allowed this, wanting that hope, too. "I know it will never be easy between us, Julia."

She nodded, her expression telling him she felt the same way, and took strength and comfort in it more than anything else. 

"I don't want what's easy. I want what's real," he affirmed, drifting unconsciously closer to her. "I've both wanted it easy, and made it harder for myself, for a long time."

"Yes," she agreed simply, not feeling the need to rub it in. Her smile deepened as she did take strength and comfort – from him, from what they shared. From what was real.

He said, "No more." He intended it as a promise.

He understood that it didn't solve everything that was wrong between them, nor everything that was wrong in themselves. But he was done looking for easy answers. He saw at least that there was hope. Hope, a chance; and one certainty: that they could endure together.


	39. Chapter 39

Their difficult conversation had not spoiled the whole day, as he feared: quite the opposite. Realizing they should begin to head home, Julia and Barnabas turned and followed the same path back, both feeling stronger and more connected for having talked about it honestly at last. It might take many long talks to truly lay it to rest, but that did not seem a harrowing prospect. They walked back mostly in silence, but no longer out of a fear of speaking. 

His fears about the possibility of a future for them were laid to rest, as much as they ever could be. But now seemed not the moment to begin that conversation. Let this moment be about healing, and making peace with past wrongs. The time would come to discuss the future. He did not want to mix one up in the other. And it was good, too, to take comfort in the present. 

As they walked along, their hands brushed one another's now and then; without conscious thought, he allowed his fingers to intertwine with hers. A serene sort of smile crossed her face; it did not disturb her, as it had earlier, that he should reach out to her this way. It felt natural, right. Her mind did not drift to thoughts of what she lacked. There was no cause to.

Returning downtown, they picked up her dress, found her car, and headed back to Collinsport. She felt fine, her mind not running in a million directions for once. She looked over at him, staring pensively out the passenger side window again. He did not look upset, exactly, not like before, but she saw there was still something on his mind.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"Of course." He forced a smile, but in meeting her gaze he saw she was not likely to let it go at that. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem... lost in thought," she said.

"Just taking in the scenery," he returned, hoping but not expecting she might leave it at that.

She tried a different tack. "Why did you really want to come out to Bangor today?"

He smiled, looking down at his lap. There was no putting anything past her, really. "Just as I said this morning, I thought we needed time to relax."

"You had more than that on your mind when you brought up Dave," she pressed him. He noticed she could now say his name without visibly flinching.

"I'm not always plotting something, Julia," he laughed lightly, looking out the window again as if that ended it.

What was she fishing for, he wondered – did she suspect? He had given her reason to; he did not want her to be surprised when he confessed his feelings. But if she did suspect, couldn't she recognize his desire to do it at the right place, the right time, in the right way? No, he supposed, she would rather he speak the truth plainly, with no preambles. But she deserved more than that. She deserved to be romanced, if clumsily. She deserved to have her years of loneliness made up to her. She deserved, he thought gravely, frankly more than he could offer.

She seemed to let it drop, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He promised himself he was not simply making excuses to keep putting the matter off. He had made up his mind when the right time and place would be. Let them get through that night first, try to find some closure in speaking to the ghosts of their past as Julia had suggested. Let them get past the pretending, pretending to be another Barnabas and Julia, so that she would not wonder if he were only confused, caught up in the moment. Let them have a night to match the day they had spent: the pain of a healing sort, the pleasure demonstrating the way it could be. And then once they returned to the Old House, once they could be alone again, together they would banish the last secrets they held from one another, the secret hopes and desires of their hearts.

\---------------------

 

Back at the Old House, Barnabas gathered up his things and gallantly left their bedroom to Julia to prepare for the party. She carefully removed the dress from the box and laid it out on the bed before her. It really was beautiful. It had been so long since she'd had occasion to wear anything like it, or anyone to wear it for. Not that she wore it for Barnabas now. She turned away, trying to erase the goofy smile the brief thought conjured, even if there were no one to see it. He had been kind and solicitous in selecting it, but he hadn't meant anything by it. 

Determinedly setting those thoughts aside, she went to the master bath for a quick shower. But new thoughts, also unwelcome, sprang to mind as she disrobed: his gentle touches throughout the day so easily translating to knowledge of what it would feel like to have his assistance now... What had gotten into her? She tried to leave these thoughts on the floor with her clothes. Oh, she had entertained all manner of fantasies about that man over the years, but not today. Today, it felt somehow especially dangerous. Perhaps, she thought, she had better make it a cold shower.

Beginning with her face and working down, her mind played over the events of the day. She reflected on his many moods, the extremes of lightness and darkness, but how gentle and thoughtful he had been to her through it all. He did still seem to have something on his mind he did not share with her. What could be harder to say than the words they had exchanged about their dark past? 

Whatever worry that thought inspired was dispelled as she continued to cleanse herself, finding her skin unusually sensitive. Her body reminded her of what her mind had forgotten, that it had been an awfully long time since she... – Well, she mentally chided herself, she had hardly had the opportunity, it had been so long since she had slept alone. And now was hardly the time to attend to those needs. Not while she had Barnabas on her brain, not while she could too easily and too completely confuse her hands for his. Again it would not do to mix one thing up with the other. She rinsed herself quickly and turned off the water with a frustrated flick of her wrist.

As she toweled herself off, she regarded herself sternly in the mirror. There was no confusion, then, about whose hands were doing the drying. Why was it more dangerous today? she asked herself. Did she fear she was as suggestible as she frequently accused him of being? Could one sunny afternoon and an anniversary party thrown for another couple really make her mind play such tricks on her? Or could it just possibly be that nothing was amiss with her usually calm and rational mind, and that the signals she was picking up and responding to were perfectly legitimate?

She threw herself a dirty look, then turned away from the mirror, returning to the bedroom. She knew better than to go there, she thought, as she cinched her robe tightly at the waist, sitting down at the dressing table. That was the most dangerous thought of all. Fantasies were one thing, but to imagine he might really...!

She began to go through the motions of applying her makeup, her thoughts drifting uncontrollably in this direction and that, bringing to the fore evidence she struggled to refute. _He stood so close and barely left your side all day._ – Oh, that was typical and it doesn't mean anything. – _But today he was much more deliberate about it, you can't deny it, and when he stood by you next to the river, he had never been that close before._ – Yes, but he was only trying to comfort me, as any friend would. – _Not at the end! He was close enough to kiss you! If you had been brave enough to look up at just that moment, his lips would have been upon yours!_ – That's a fantasy. – _He held your hand all the way back, that was no fantasy..._

Fed up with her warring mind, Julia rose and went back to the bed, unbelting and stepping out of her robe, with great focus and businesslike efficiency putting on the undergarments she had laid out and the dress without allowing her mind to linger over any sensuous considerations this time. She zipped up the back and with only a little difficulty fastened the clasp. She would not entertain any silly ideas of calling for Barnabas down the hall to help with this, luxuriating in his large hands and nimble fingers moving briefly over her body. She would not give herself the benefit of that information, which she could so easily extrapolate to all sorts of other manipulations and attentions. Her mind did not go there at all this time – not more than a split second.

She sighed, knowing this was a fight she had lost long ago. Resigned, she walked to the mirror and was pleased to see again how well the dress flattered her. Oh, so be it, she thought. Barnabas would act as if he found her alluring again, and it would put thoughts into her head again, and those thoughts would lead to nowhere but frustration yet again. She seemed to be powerless to stop it. She was a goner. After all this time, she couldn't believe she could so willingly fall into this fantasy.

 _Julia, what if it isn't a fantasy?_ That damned voice crept into the back of her mind again. 

The clock struck seven, rousing her from her thoughts and stirring her into action. They should be arriving now, not still standing about daydreaming. She quickly pinned up her hair, letting it fall about in messy but pretty curls around her face. She spritzed herself quickly with the nearest bottle of perfume at hand and quickly stepped into the heels she had set aside. And with one last satisfied glance at the mirror, she hurried to the door.

\---------------------

 

Barnabas stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting, not a model of patience. He checked his watch, frowned slightly, paced around the foyer. At one point he began to approach the stairs, thinking just to check on her, but doubled back, resuming his nervous shuffling. It was not that he cared much one way or the other about being on time for the party. He was eager, quite simply, to see her in her dress; simpler still, just to see her again.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting–" she said breathlessly, half-running down the stairs. 

Turning to see her, it only vaguely occurred to him that it was almost comical, how thoroughly the sight of her both calmed and excited him. He was too consumed by the image of her loveliness, a vision in shimmering white, to quite register his usual foolishness. Or the twin foolishness of standing there, frozen in place, regarding her as if she had descended the stairs in slow motion and soft focus like some ingenue in an old movie. His eyes were just a little wide as he took in the whole effect of the dress, and of the woman standing now before him in it, looking at him just a bit dubiously. He would always be a bit of a fool. But he was a fool for her.

"Barnabas?" she asked, trying to snap him out of it. The look in his eyes was not lost on her, she could not argue otherwise. But better to put a stop to that right now, before he got carried away, before she got carried away. 

He focused his attention back on reality, but his smile did not alter. "Julia, you look lovely."

"Thank you," she breathed, doing a quick turn for him so he could see the back of the dress, feeling a bit silly even as she did so.

"The dress is very nice, too," he added, leaning in a bit closer, lowering his voice.

Was she blushing? She had to stop this, she told herself. He had to stop this. At once. But if they were to get carried away together...

"We should be on our way," she managed, pulling a safer distance away from him. 

"Yes. Let's."

He offered her his arm, which she regarded warily for a moment before linking it with her own. Their eyes locked for a moment, barely suspecting the other might feel as intensely the exquisite torment they were each enduring, equal parts terror, certainty, nerves and desire. But as they walked out the door arm in arm, again the feeling of simple rightness struck them both, reaffirming and calming, so that the prevailing feeling was one of unity, come what may.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another smut chapter. Sensitive readers can skip without missing anything essential to the plot. Others will get a bit more of the backstory of the other Julia and Barnabas. Also smut.

**_Meanwhile, in Real Time_ **

“Barnabas?” Julia rushed through the Old House doors, almost slamming them shut in her haste. She checked her appearance in the foyer mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair back into place and smiling back at her reflection, pleased with what she saw, anticipating his look of appreciation. She shrugged out of her coat, throwing more than hanging it on the coat rack. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she removed a simple gold band, and put it on: third finger, left hand.

Barnabas emerged from the door that led to the kitchen, breaking out into a grin to see her standing before him: at last.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I tried to get away sooner.”

“You're right on time,” he said, walking toward her, his reflexive grin turning into a more intentionally seductive smirk. He clasped his two large hands around her shoulders, the left bearing a matching gold band. “Dinner,” he said, giving her a peck on one cheek, “is almost” – he repeated the gesture on the other cheek – “ready.”

With a little growl, she caught hold of his shirt with both hands, clawing the material playfully and pulling him closer toward her. She nuzzled her lips along his jaw and chin, and, reaching his lips, said into them, “Happy anniversary.”

A jolt of desire surged through him and he pulled her closer, his hands moving about her back to lock her in his embrace, his lips mingling with hers in a sensuous, prolonged kiss. He stopped himself only when he realized he was very much in danger of losing interest in the dinner he had spent all evening preparing. He pulled back just a little, enjoying the way she needed to catch her breath, leaning against him. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured.

She put her head on his shoulder, luxuriating in his embrace for a long moment, snaking her arms around his waist. Suddenly she pulled back, momentarily panicked. “Did you get Willie out of the house?”

“Yes,” he smiled down at her calmly. “He's gone on an overnight errand. Don't worry. I've seen to everything.”

“It's amazing what he takes from you, in this time,” Julia said, shaking her head, barely remembering a time when Willie had been so subservient. “I wish that Barnabas would let him go.”

“Well,” he said, determined to keep the mood light, “he doesn't have his Julia to look after him.”

“Oh, no, I'm quite sure she does – in every way but one very... particular... way,” she said, raising her eyebrows and swatting at his ass.

“Indeed. He has been a nuisance, though,” he said silkily, drawing her close to him again. “I haven't had one decent, unrestrained night alone with you since we've been here. I'm tired of sneaking around, grabbing a stolen moment, keeping quiet...”

“Better make up for lost time, then.” She said it as if it were a dare.

“All in good time. Why don't you have a seat while I finish up dinner? I've set up a table by the fire.” He led her into the drawing room to reveal a candlelit table set for two. The room was otherwise quite dark.

“I guess living without electricity does have some charms after all,” she said, turning toward him and pulling him into another kiss.

“Hold that thought,” he whispered, and disappeared into the kitchen as if he'd never be able to tear himself away if he delayed one second more with her.

\--------------------

 

Julia set down her plate, smiling with satisfaction. In her time, Barnabas had become quite a talented cook. She observed wryly, “It's funny, isn't it? We tried to get away for a weekend, and it's turned into an indefinite vacation.” 

“Some vacation,” he grumbled, exaggerating his annoyance for effect. “What sort of vacation is it when I have to pretend you're not my wife, that I don't love you, that I don't spend nearly every waking hour wanting you...”

“But be honest, Barnabas,” she teased him, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs – slowly, for his benefit. “Having to sneak around has made it... hotter, hasn't it?”

“I will admit it has...” A smile slowly spread across his face as he watched her. “But there is a limit to a man's enduring games.”

“Oh?” 

“Oh, yes.”

“And you've hit yours, have you?”

“I know, you love watching me suffer,” he said, unable to convincingly pretend he did not enjoy it, too. But the next moment he turned serious, broaching a subject he knew would not be well-received. “Julia... Don't you suppose after a decent interval, we ought to stop playing this game?”

She shook her head, a warning tone in his voice that he had expected. “Don't start that again.”

“I'm only suggesting--” he began to protest.

“Barnabas, we've been through this. I don't want to do anything that will change things for them, when they return to their own time.”

“But if we don't ever find our way back, or if it's years – I don't intend to spend the rest of my life this way.” He took a moment to calm down, knowing his only possible chance to win this argument would be by finding a way to speak rationally about it. That, and perhaps by appealing to her romantic side. He leaned forward, speaking more softly. “Julia, you've taught me to value living in the present. I will not let these years go by without you by my side.”

“It won't be years, Barnabas,” she promised, her tone also softening.

Seeing an opening, he became more firm. “I think we should put a definite time limit on it. If we don't sort this out, then I'm going to fall in love with you all over again. And if they have to deal with the consequences later, I'm sure they will thank us.”

“Barnabas...” she trailed off, not really disagreeing. 

“Anyhow, it is impossible for me to believe there is nothing between them. Most likely, they simply need a little push.”

“Well, you're right, practically everyone seems to assume they're together anyhow.” She shrugged and shook her head. This time, the exasperation was for their counterparts, who just couldn't seem to get it together.

“And when you slipped out to join me tonight, and when you don't return until morning, they'll be even more convinced.”

She smiled wryly and said, “From what I understand that's a regular occurrence anyhow.”

“See? It makes no difference. We might as well.” He wore a gloating sort of a smile, as if that clinched it.

She waved the matter aside. “Well, let's forget about it for tonight. Let's forget about all of our troubles, here, and at home. You've made all the arrangements. For just one night, I only want to think about us.”

“I'll be the last to argue with that sentiment.”

“Isn't there dessert?” she asked, looking about expectantly.

He lowered his voice as he looked at her more intensely. “Yes. I'm looking at mine.”

She threw back her head in laughter. He was such a surprisingly playful lover; no one would ever expect it of him.

But Barnabas was quite serious, his voice growing deeper still with desire. “It's been so long since I had you in that chair, Julia.”

He walked toward her slowly, enjoying the look of naked anticipation upon her face, clearly aware of how long it had been, too.

He stopped in front of her, caressing her face lightly with one hand. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, feeling all of the stress of the day draining from her body. His other hand drifted from her neck, across her shoulder, down her arm, arriving at and lingering over one breast, cupping and massaging it as best he could through the fabric of her dress and undergarments. He gently encouraged her to spread her legs as he pressed forward. She complied readily, hooking her ankles around his when he continued to stand there, aimlessly touching her. Damn this man and his love of foreplay, she thought.

Understanding her, and eager to please, he slowly dropped to his knees, his hands still roaming over her from thighs to hips and sliding around to her backside, pulling her to the edge of the chair. She laughed wickedly: that was more like it. His lips met hers, his tongue slipping first shyly past her lips, dancing past her tongue, circling it slowly at first, then quickening his pace, plunging more forcefully into her mouth: a preview of what he intended to repeat at length below. Realizing this at both conscious and carnal levels, she moaned softly into his mouth.

He ran his hands back down the length of her thighs, slipping his fingertips slowly under the fabric of her skirt. The contact of his flesh against her legs, coupled with his oral attentions, made her hips buck forward in anticipation. Pleased, he continued to slowly reach up her skirt, unfastening her garters, a task he had through experience learned to perform by touch alone. He pulled her underwear and stockings down quickly, with the help of a few obliging squirms from her. 

He released her mouth from the onslaught of feverish kisses, trailing a path with lips and tongue slowly down her neck, lingering to suck at the places he knew to be most sensitive. “Oh, god, Barnabas,” she sighed, running her hands through his hair. “Don't torment me...”

He paused long enough to muse, “I know you'll more than even the score, whatever I do...”

As he slowly ran one hand up the length of her leg until it reached her rapidly moistening center, he pulled back to watch her reaction. He ran his fingers along the outside of her, tangling them in her hairs and her wetness. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sank back against the chair. In over three years of making love to this woman, he never lost the fascination of watching her respond to his touch. He entered her, barely, with one finger, causing a smile to play across her lips. Slowly he pushed deeper and deeper inside her, with first one finger and then a second, eliciting a low husky moan, more rapid breathing, and her eyebrows drawing together in what might otherwise be taken as an expression of intense confusion.

Gradually he began to move his fingers inside of her, and instantly, involuntarily, she moved her hips in time with them, just as she did when she rode him and he thrust hard into her. At that thought he pressed harder, harder, beginning to pump her with his fingers the way his cock, growing against his restrictive clothing, ached to do, as she ached to have it done to her. She buried her head in one wing of the chair, her breath coming ragged now; he could feel her pulse throbbing inside of her. He watched her until his own need overwhelmed him and he couldn't hold back any longer.

Quickly sliding his fingers out of her, he pushed her skirt up to her waist roughly and buried his face where his fingers had been. He didn't take his time as he did before, couldn't, spurred on by the noises she made in response to every thrust of his tongue, deeper and louder all the time. She leaned forward slightly, running her hands mindlessly through his hair and over his neck and shoulders, now massaging them gently, now digging her nails into his skin painfully. She spread her legs wider as he assailed the site of her pleasure more forcefully, more directly. He had to hold her hips down with both hands as she bucked violently against his tongue plunging into her, circling and lapping at and pressing against her. With a loud cry she came, shuddering against his mouth and sending shockwaves through her body into his. 

He rose to his full height on his knees, pulling her against him with one arm while reinserting a finger where his tongue had been to coax her through her orgasm, still feeling her convulsing around him for a long while. Gradually she relaxed in his embrace, purring against his neck, “God you're good at that.” When her contractions stopped, he removed his fingers, and held her loosely in both arms, their hands moving freely over one another, lips meeting again, all the more erotic to both of them for where his mouth had just been.

She circled his hips with her legs, pressing up against him. He had almost managed to forget, so caught up in her release, how painfully he ached for his own. The feeling of her lightly grazing him made him throb uncontrollably. Mercilessly, she reached between their bodies, stroking the length of him through his suit pants. “Julia...” he gasped. And she called what he did torment.

She flashed him a devilish smirk and he reflected vaguely how unequal it all was, that he though of nothing but her pleasure and she took great pleasure in his pain. But oh what glorious pain it was. 

She unfastened his belt buckle and slowly, seductively, removed it, letting it clatter to the floor. If he wanted it over with quickly, he shouldn't wear so many clothes. Hadn't she made it as easy as could be with her simple sheath dress? She paused, her hands at his waistline, kissing him once softly then pulling away; she unfastened the clasp of his trousers and stopped there, kissing him again, and backing off. Her expression turned to one of mock sympathy, mock innocence, as she brushed his hair tenderly from his perspiring forehead. “What do you want, love?”

“I want your mouth around me,” he said roughly, resisting the urge to pull her to the floor and ravish her.

“You've gotten so good at asking for what you want,” she said, unzipping his fly as if it were a reward. His hard cock sprang free into her hands, poking out of his shorts. “That used to be hard for you.”

“A lot of things were hard for me, before you,” he said, struggling to keep his tone even. He added wryly, “A lot of other things are hard for me now.”

“But this,” she said slyly, squeezing his erection as if her meaning needed underlining, “is hard for me, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he gasped. It had been a long time since he thought he might finish before she had a chance to get started. “Oh god, Julia...”

She slid out of the chair to a position on the floor on her knees in front of him. She nuzzled his neck briefly, then whispered into his ear, “I want what you want.” Then she pulled his pants and shorts roughly down from his hips, pausing to lightly stroke his fully exposed cock. “Lay down,” she instructed, and as he did so alongside the fire she pulled his pants the rest of the way off him, taking his shoes and socks with them.

She curled up alongside him like a cat, her legs nestled against his side. He stroked her bare legs as she settled down between his, plainly admiring what she found there, twitching, aching for her. She kissed the tip lightly while gently stroking the length of him, ending by cupping and gently massaging his balls. He leaned his head all the way back and closed his eyes, giving himself over completely to her. 

She continued to tease him, her tongue working in light circles around the tip and up and down the shaft until she was sure he could not be any more engorged, or any more needy. He groaned when she finally took him inside her mouth, at first just from the feeling of the wet warmth, then as she increased the pressure of her tongue and the suction of her lips.

She loved everything about pleasing this way – the control she had over him on the one hand, and the absolute devotion to his pleasure on the other. And god it was gratifying how much he enjoyed it. He attempted to restrain himself but past a certain point no longer could help thrusting up against her, and in truth she wanted him to let go completely. He strained and grunted as she continued to manipulate him, harder and faster, her free hand incongruously caressing his stomach with a light touch. 

“Julia, I--” he began, the warning cut short by the long uncontrollable groan that accompanied his final release. Julia smiled as she sucked and lapped up and relished every last drop of him. He always took care to warn her, even though he well knew how much she enjoyed it. 

Having drained him, she released him and moved to lay alongside him, kissing him long and hard before he had entirely caught his breath. He pulled her tight against him, her body neatly fitting against his. 

“Oh, Julia...” he sighed, kissing the top of her head, which she had buried in the cleft between his neck and shoulder. “I love you so.”

“I love you, too, Barnabas,” she purred, nuzzling her face against his skin.

“I hope I have told you, and shown you, every day of our life together, just how much I love you.”

She paused a moment, just a moment, before responding, deciding for herself if that were exactly true. It was, after all. Whatever else their problems, whatever other doubts she had, he never made her question his devotion to her. She said, “You have.”

“I can't imagine my life without you,” he went on, unfazed by or not noticing her moment's hesitation. “If there is any sense in what has happened to us here... perhaps I needed to see what my life would have been like, how gray and lonely it would have been, if I had not chosen to act on my feelings for you. Perhaps I needed to learn not to take you for granted.”

She wondered, “Do you think you took me for granted?”

“Yes. I'll admit I did. I suppose he does, too, fool that he is. I wish I could talk sense to him.”

“Let it go, Barnabas,” she said softly. “It's none of our concern.”

“I suppose not. Anyhow, it makes me all the more grateful, to have you for my wife.”

She nipped at his skin, then open-mouth kissed the hollow of his throat, lightly playing her tongue across his skin. She loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar to trail kisses lower, laughing as if she had suddenly realized he was completely naked from the waist down and still all business up top.

“Don't laugh,” he said with feigned annoyance. “It's your fault you were so desperate to have me you couldn't be bothered to undress me properly.”

“Please,” she teased him, running her teeth along his jaw. “You didn't manage to remove a single real article of clothing. I could walk outside right now without shame.”

“Don't let me stop you from going about this way any time you like,” he said, reaching his hand up her skirt again and slowly roaming over her bare buttocks. 

She considered, “It would make it easier when we have to rush.”

“I never want to rush with you,” he said, his other hand reaching for the zipper at the back of her dress and pulling it slowly down, but stopping there, slipping his hand underneath the fabric and lightly caressing her back.

She shrugged, letting her face fall against his chest now, enjoying his attentions. She threw both her arms around his neck and pulled herself fully on top of him. His hands explored further under her clothes, but slowly – stimulating her to be sure, but by design a long way off from reckoning with. “I like it when you rush. And I like it when you take your time. I like it when you're gentle, and I like it when you're rough and needy, like you just can't help yourself. In all these years, you still surprise me.”

He could not suppress a prideful smile at her words. “Do you remember the first time?”

“Wrong anniversary,” she said, laughing throatily, unable to fathom waiting for their wedding day, let alone years on end to take him into her bed.

“I know,” he said, laughing in response. “But speaking of not being able to help myself.”

“Oh, indeed,” she said, raising her eyebrows at the memory.

“And I so wanted to, then – to take my time. I didn't want to disappoint you.”

“You didn't disappoint me. Not at all.”

“It was agony, waiting for dawn, the confirmation that I was fully human again. That was all the restraint I had left at that point, to wait until dawn. I had some confirmation already. Every time I looked at you, every time I thought of what I wanted to do with you, I felt myself grow hard. That hadn't happened before.”

“Oh? You never told me that. We could have tested your vital signs that way, hours before dawn.”

“No,” he shook his head gravely. “I never would have taken a chance with you like that. I had to wait until dawn. That was the only thing that kept me from pouncing on you, the thought of your safety.”

“Oh, how gallant,” she laughed.

“And when dawn came, when you did take my vital signs, my skin was so sensitive... I wanted to throw you down on the cellar floor and take you then and there.”

“Well, why didn't you?”

“By then I had a better idea.”

She raised her head to look at him, her voice gentle, playing with the hair on his forehead. “Be honest. You were terrified.”

“Yes, that's true, too.”

“Even after we went out to see the dawn, you were shy.”

“No, not shy,” he said, remembering it differently. “Didn't I leer at you? I felt as if I leered at you.”

“You may have leered,” she allowed. “You may have touched me so that I'd get the idea. But I don't know if you'd ever have done anything about it, left to your own devices.”

He insisted, “I was working up to it!”

“You never would have, if I hadn't pounced on you!” She laughed at him lightly.

“Well, at least I responded quickly enough.”

“Yes, I'll give you that. Yes, after I backed you against that tree and jammed my tongue in your mouth, you got the idea.”

To illustrate, she pressed him harder against the floor and kissed him hard, surprising him and almost knocking the wind out of him as she had that first time. He removed his hands from where they had been, moving them to her hair and shoulders, as he well recalled. When she pulled away, he gasped involuntarily. 

She smiled, satisfied with the reaction she had elicited. “Yes, that's just how you looked then.” 

“You still do the same things to me,” he said, his voice lowered again in desire. “I didn't even care about the sun anymore. I only wanted to be with you.”

“Still, I'm glad we found a way to have it both ways,” she smirked down at him.

“Mmm, yes,” he agreed, pulling her down into another kiss. She attacked his lips with enthusiasm, her fingers working at the next few buttons of his shirt, pressing herself against him. 

When she released him again, breathless, he noted, “It's been a long time since we made love outdoors.”

“It has its inconveniences,” she said.

“So does this floor,” he pointed out.

“You're right.” She pulled back, hovering above him, her dress falling loosely off her shoulders. “In the end, we're really very traditional, aren't we?”

“Yes,” he laughed, carelessly pushing the garment farther down.

She sat up so he could no longer reach, straddling his hips, unbuttoning the last two buttons and running her hands over his stomach and chest over the thin fabric of his undershirt. “Perhaps we've even become boring after three years. But what I really want, I think, is a good old-fashioned bed.”

\--------------------

 

By the time they reached the top of the stairs they had rid each other of every last stitch of clothing, so there was no need to delay as they burst through the bedroom door, breaking from their passionate kisses at intervals only to see the way to the bed. He backed her against the mattress, gently positioning her in a sitting position on the edge. He leaned down to kiss her as he nudged her entrance with his cock, hard again already and wanting her desperately. She stroked him with one hand while the other roamed freely over his body.

“I need you,” she whispered as she grabbed him, finally and slowly guiding him inside of her. Both sighed with relief as they enjoyed the familiar, but lately too rare, sensation of him filling her completely, her warmth welcoming him in. He simply held himself inside her, slowly pushing harder, but moving very little, until neither one of them could stand it any longer. As he began to thrust in earnest, long, slow strokes at first, she leaned back against the bed, propping herself up on her elbows to watch him and arching her hips to meet him.

He stroked her breasts as he continued to plunge into her, one in each hand, squeezing and caressing, his thumbs moving over the hardened nipples. He leaned over her to take one and then the other into his mouth, his tongue running over the smooth skin. As he leaned forward, his angle shifted and she cried out – he had her close. She pushed her hips up harder against him, so that his every stroke, harder and faster all the time, landed a bullseye.

Not ready to let it end for her quite so soon, Barnabas pulled out and, taking her by the hips, easily maneuvered her onto her stomach on the bed. She arched her back in a catlike stretch as he reentered her, sending all new sensations coursing through her. She was less able to control their joining from this angle and gave herself over to his whim, altering the pace and the angle as he desired. Now he squeezed her ass with both hands, the pressure tightening her fit around him. They both began to breathe more heavily as he continued to thrust hard inside her.

Reaching around, he moistened the index finger of one hand with her wetness. He slowed his hip movements as he gently began to explore her anal opening, her little sighs of pleasure urging him deeper. When he had his finger inside to the second knuckle, he began to move inside of her more forcefully again, his finger mimicking the pace of his cock, one feeling the other through the thin, soft tissue.

She moaned loudly as she came, pushing back hard against him, riding the waves of pleasure that shot through her as fully as possible. He paused, resting inside of her, loving the feeling of her contracting muscles around him. Withdrawing his hand, he leaned over her body and encircled her completely with both arms, kissing her shoulder, her neck, and finally her lips as the last aftershocks of her orgasm subsided.

He pulled out again, throbbing with need for his own release. She brought herself to a sitting position on the bed, and taking his hand, pulled him onto the bed with her. She maneuvered his legs into a wide “V” and then crawled between them, a devilish grin on her face. She sat between his legs, on her knees, and kissed him, a torturously slow kiss, both of their hands moving over the other's body. She took her time although she knew it was killing him. He made no protest, allowing her to set the pace now. Finally she straddled him, throwing each of her legs over each of his hips, open wide because his legs were spread open wide.

At her full height, on her knees, he could take her breasts in his mouth, and she encouraged him to suck and nip at them. He was patient but his hips bucked forward instinctively, needing to be inside of her again. Slowly, she slid downward, so that his mouth met every inch of her skin as she descended and her body pressed tightly against his. She paused at the height where his cock could just barely tease her. “Julia, please,” he gasped, and she slowly lowered herself the rest of the way down his hard shaft.

She kissed him tenderly as she began to rock and grind against him, an almost unbearably arousing combination for him. She moved against him harder and faster, bringing him to the point of release but knowing he usually did not come until he could thrust unrestrained into her. She knew this was one of few positions from which she could keep him completely at bay. But, ready for more herself, she rose and turned around, now straddling him from the opposite angle, her back to his chest.

He rose halfway to his knees, issuing one long, hard thrust deep into her, causing them both to cry out softly. They both moved against each other, out of sync at first now wild with need, but eventually finding their rhythm again. He held her tight against him, one arm circling about her torso, the other touching her where he pleased, her breasts, her stomach, then reaching inside of her touching her clit directly. She covered his hand with her own, pressing him harder inside of her, then reached further to play with his balls, squeezing and caressing the base of his shaft between thrusts.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, he lunged forward, maneuvering them both onto all fours. He kissed her back and neck and massaged her breasts, pressing his chest against her back as he pumped her with all the strength and speed he had left. On his final thrusts he grunted uncontrollably in her ear, moaning her name as he came inside of her, the force of his release sending her over the edge once more, too, their contractions coaxing more from one another as they slowly regained their senses.

Julia collapsed to the mattress, stretching her arms out in front of her. He lay down on top of her back, keeping most of his weight off her but maintaining contact with her skin until all traces of their orgasms subsided. He kissed her neck lingeringly, then finally rolled off of her, pulling her toward him to nestle against his body.

“Not bad for a boring old married couple,” he laughed into her hair.

“No,” she said, snuggling closer to him. “Not bad at all.”

He pulled the covers up around them with one hand, not willing to let her go for a moment. He watched her quietly as she slipped off to sleep in his arms. Silently, he vowed to himself he would not, in any sense, let go of any more time with her. Her arguments against changing things for the Julia and Barnabas of this time seemed more absurd to him every day. Let them come home and confront the idea of being a couple. They had to be doing so already, if they truly were living in their time. Barnabas decided he could not, would not, pretend any longer not to love this woman, out loud, for all to see. He would not pretend to be that other Barnabas, slowly letting time pass him by, denying himself the one woman who could truly make him whole. Beginning tomorrow, he resolved, he would tell the world just how he felt. If there were consequences, he would choose them rather than those of cowardly inaction and painful self-denial.


	41. Chapter 41

**_Back in Parallel Time_ **

Julia and Barnabas paused outside the front doors of Collinwood, mentally preparing themselves for the ordeal that awaited them just beyond. Bangor had made them both forget about it completely, but Bangor felt a million miles away now.

Julia sighed and said wryly, "Well, there's no turning back now."

"No. There's no turning back." He turned to face her, promising himself this would be the last time he would say one thing and mean another. "But I think... once we get through this, everything will be much easier." 

Even taking his remark at face value, she was encouraged. She flashed him a quick smile, then returned her focus to the imposing front doors which might otherwise have felt like home. "All right, let's get this over with," she said, and with no further delay, she opened the door and entered.

Immediately inside, they heard the strains of some old romantic jazz music, bright enough to keep the mood lively, slow enough for a lover's dance. Over it, they could hear the rumble of guests mingling – perhaps more than Elizabeth had led them to believe would be in attendance – occasionally punctuated by a burst of laughter they recognized. The party seemed to be in full swing and everyone in high spirits. 

Elizabeth strode into the foyer to meet them, smiling broadly, pleased to see them, and not just a little pleased with her own work. She embraced them both in turn warmly. "Happy anniversary, Julia, Barnabas. Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Barnabas said, returning her smile.

Elizabeth eyed them with a devious sort of look. "You were expecting me to scold you for arriving late, weren't you?"

"Not at all!" Julia exclaimed, a harmless lie.

"I promised you an easy party, and that's what I intend to give you – even privately, between us," she affirmed, but there was still a glint in her eye that suggested otherwise.

"Thank you, Elizabeth – you have no idea how much we appreciate that," Barnabas said earnestly, Julia nodding at his side.

"I only hope you're late because you were having too much fun alone," Elizabeth said.

Her attitude did not indicate she had meant anything suggestive by the remark, but both Barnabas and Julia – their thoughts if not their actions lately focused in that direction – were momentarily embarrassed and at a loss for words. 

If Elizabeth noticed, she didn't let on. "And I will not announce your arrival or ask you to make any speeches, although I would like to be given credit for the fact that I _could_ have," she smiled again – near smirked. 

With that, she turned back toward the drawing room, leading the way. Julia and Barnabas followed, shooting each other a quick nervous glance, suddenly suspicious of all these emphatic promises.

Her hand on the drawing room door, Elizabeth looked back at them over her shoulder and said, with a characteristically controlled but unmistakable devilish glee, "But I cannot be held responsible for anything our guests may do."

Elizabeth threw open the drawing room doors and they were greeted by a raucous chorus of "Happy anniversary!," noisemakers blowing and much shouting – exaggerated to the degree they would have preferred it be kept quiet. But jostled apart and passed from one hug to another around the room, they soon fell into the spirit of the thing, laughingly accepting congratulations, enjoying it without overthinking. At some point in the confusion Julia found herself with a drink in her hand, not sure who had put it there, taking pains not to spill it on the last of the guests she embraced in the chaotic sort of receiving line.

Finding a break in the crowd and a patch of air at the far end of the room, Julia gratefully took a sip of the mystery drink – finding it a rather strong punch. She caught Quentin's eye from across the room and he raised his glass to her and winked. So he had furtively passed the drink to her – a true friend. If he continued to look after her that way all evening she'd transfer to him all the faith she had so recently put in Elizabeth, before this betrayal.

But what a lovely betrayal – Elizabeth had truly outdone herself. It was not the small party they were promised, but an impressive one, never knowing the drawing room of Collinwood to be the site of such merriment in her own time. All the furniture had been cleared for mingling and dancing, and the door to the patio was open so that the pleasant night air might be enjoyed on the moonlit terrace. Julia took a moment to admire the decorations, the music again so thoughtfully chosen, and the sight of her friends – or strangers so like her friends – having a wonderful time in each other's company. 

As her eyes moved about the room, they landed on the sight of Jennifer standing against the opposite wall. A young man Julia did not recognize was attempting to chat her up and apparently getting nowhere. Jennifer's eyes met her own, and an unsettling sort of smile crossing her face. Julia's blood ran cold for a moment, blinking. She was imagining things, she told herself, projecting. The next moment, Jennifer was talking to her pursuer as if he were the only man in the world. 

Elizabeth joined Julia at her side, seeing where Julia's eyes had traveled and instantly understanding. She asked softly, but pointedly, "Do you wish I hadn't invited her, Julia?"

"No, not at all, of course she should be here," Julia said, laughing it off.

But Elizabeth was quite serious. "I don't know if I agree. I very nearly did not invite her, even though she would be in the house. It was Quentin who took her part, reminded me that we always included Vicky when she was the governess."

"Vicky was like family. _Is_ like family," Julia corrected herself quickly.

"And Jennifer is not." Sensing Julia about to protest that was not what she meant, Elizabeth raised one hand to silence her. "Let's us girls be honest with each other. But to the rest, we must keep up appearances."

"Yes," Julia said, sharing a conspiratorial smile. "Anyhow, Elizabeth, everything is beautiful. Thank you, so much, for everything – and I'm sorry if Barnabas and I have been a pain."

"It has been my pleasure," Elizabeth responded graciously. "But if you'll excuse me, I ought to see how Mrs. Johnson is getting along with the canapés."

"Of course," Julia said.

As soon as Elizabeth walked away, Julia's eyes fell upon Jennifer again, still giggling with that young man across the room. He seemed to have made good progress: they stood quite close now, Jennifer touching him flirtatiously every time she pretended to be amused by a joke he made. Scowling, Julia idly wished they would soon slip off together to someplace darker, quieter, and out of her sight. She was about to turn back and rejoin the crowd when Jennifer abruptly stopped mid-laugh, as if time had briefly stopped, turned her head deliberately toward Julia, and winked.


	42. Chapter 42

"What did you put in this, exactly, Quentin?" Barnabas winced involuntarily as he took a sip of Quentin's punch.

"Ah, that's my own special recipe, and it will go to the grave with me!" Quentin laughed. "Buck up, old man. I know, it's a far cry from claret cup."

"It's undrinkable. Did Elizabeth really agree to put you on bar duty? It's a mark against her otherwise exquisite taste and good sense," Barnabas said, setting his glass down.

"I noticed your wife can take it in stride," Quentin continued to tease him. "Aren't you ashamed?" 

"There are any number of things Julia can take in her stride that I cannot," Barnabas said lightly, but fervently.

"That I believe," Quentin nodded, and threw back about half a cup himself.

"Is he trying to get you to drink that stuff, too?" Victoria Winters appeared at Quentin's side, casting a mock-judgmental look his way. "I swear that punch is a practical joke."

"Oh, it's no joke! It's quite serious!" Quentin laughed, but stopped himself suddenly, switching into ladykiller mode as he turned to her and gave her a quick peck first on her nose, then her lips. 

Vicky leaned into his kisses with a grin, but pulled back again, feigning annoyance. "Will you get your poor cousin something to drink that won't put him out for half of his party, please?"

Quentin shrugged, a masculine challenge in his voice when he offered, "Sherry?"

Barnabas accepted the gibe with a slight inclination of his head. "I'll have a little brandy."

"And for you, my sweet?" he asked, stepping closer to Vicky again so that her eyes danced a little at his nearness.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

Again he shrugged, and wandered off to fill another order or two, determined no glass go unfilled.

A wave of nervousness fluttered through him as Barnabas found himself along with Vicky, who smiled up at him, waiting for him to lead the conversation where he liked. His eyes sought out Julia, and he found her halfway across the room, looking up from her conversation with Carolyn at the same moment. She saw him with Vicky and understood his look of discomfort, flashing him a smile and a nod of encouragement. He nodded back. Yes, this was, in part, what he had come to do. He turned back to Vicky, finding her looking a bit confused, but still smiling, waiting for him to say something.

He touched her elbow lightly and said, "Would you care to step outside with me? It's becoming a bit stuffy in here."

"I'd love to," she said, falling into step beside him.

\--------------------------

 

Julia watched Barnabas and Vicky walking toward the terrace, an absurd twinge of what she vaguely recognized as jealousy taking hold of her briefly. She let it go as quickly as it had come. It was a pointless feeling for any number of reasons. She turned her attention back to Carolyn, who was updating her on her coursework at the university, approaching finals in her sophomore year. Julia was proud of her, to learn she had decided to go to school and was doing well. She resolved to do what she could to encourage the Carolyn of her own time to follow the same path.

"I still haven't declared a major!" Carolyn laughed. "I suppose I'll have to by the fall. It's funny, being around all these eighteen-year-olds who have a better idea of what they want to do with the rest of their lives than I ever have!"

"You're not exactly over the hill yourself," Julia said. "I know people who are much, much older than you who still have no clue what they want out of life." Or at least she knew one person in particular.

"Julia! Congratulations!" They were interrupted by a very animated and very pregnant Maggie slowly waddling toward them, her arms outstretched. 

Julia embraced her as well as she could over of her almost comically large midsection. "Are you sure you aren't having twins?"

"Quadruplets, I keep saying." Joe, a step behind, laughed sheepishly. He looked as if he hadn't slept in a week.

Julia embraced him next, and then gave them both an admonishing look. "Maggie, you should be at home, resting. Joe, you shouldn't have let her come."

"You try telling Maggie to do or not do anything!" Joe said, shaking his head, earning himself a light shove from his wife.

"Wouldn't that be a story if she went into labor here tonight!" Carolyn laughed.

Maggie found this equally funny, but Joe groaned in real agony at the thought, too deep in his first-time parent worries to joke about it.

"Well? There's more than one doctor here – we're better off than we would be at home!" Maggie exclaimed.

Joe made a display of speaking directly to Julia to the exclusion of the others, as if they were the only rational people in the whole room. "Yes, will you keep an eye on my wife tonight, Dr. Collins?"

Julia's eyes went momentarily wide at the appellation, but she caught herself and smiled. "Consider me on call."

\--------------------------

 

"Oh, what an absolutely beautiful night!" Vicky cried, wandering slowly toward the fountain. 

Barnabas let her walk a step or two ahead of him, regarding her pensively. He was playing over his memories of what he once wanted to do to this young woman. He could not imagine feeling that way, try as he might. She was beautiful, yes, desirable; he could almost recall and understand the feeling of wanting her; but the monstrous things he wanted her for... For long moments he began to drift deeper and deeper into his usual snarl of self-loathing, but all in an instant it clicked, a realization he had never quite made. Perhaps it was indeed something in him that made him chase youth and beauty, and that he would have to sort out. But those horrible desires he once had to pervert that youth and beauty so... He understood at last that was not him. He was still responsible; he did not absolve himself. But he saw that monster was not an innate part of himself, and no trace of its evil appetites seemed to remain within him now.

Vicky looked back at him questioningly, his silence worrying her. He closed the space between them, smiling gently. He said, "Yes, it is a lovely night."

Surprising him, she was not instantly put at ease, her eyebrows briefly knitting in deepened confusion, as if trying to remember something she had forgotten long ago. Seemingly shaking off the feeling, she brightened and said, "How silly of me! I forgot to say congratulations."

He smiled, but said, "I've had enough congratulations for one night – it goes to my head. It's better if you don't congratulate me. Besides, it is no great accomplishment, loving Julia. It turned out to be the easiest thing I've ever done."

Vicky sighed, his romantic notions having the same effect on her they always had. Inwardly, he laughed at himself. She's simply a romantic girl, he thought; how could you suppose it had anything to do with you?

"If Quentin and I are ever half as happy as the two of you, I would consider myself a very lucky woman," Vicky said dreamily.

"Are you happy with Quentin?" Barnabas asked her gently. "I should like to think of you being happy, wherever you are."

"Yes, I am happy. I think we're happy together." Her smile became almost goofy as she pronounced the words; she could not hold it back.

Barnabas thought of his Victoria Winters, lost somewhere in time, dead by now, in a sense, but perhaps living happily in another sense, in her band of time. Was she happy with Jeff Clark, before tragedy inevitably struck them? He looked at her counterpart in this time and wished to believe his own actions had done nothing to spoil her happiness. But he had done things to his Victoria that his counterpart never did to the woman standing before him now. Long before he had sunk his fangs into her neck, tasted her blood, that other Barnabas had turned to his Julia. And in accepting her help, she had saved him from himself...

It was not too late, he told himself; he was not that man. He could learn to leave the past in the past, with Julia's help, her infinite patience with him. He wanted that. He did not want to wallow in that past. And he should find a way, he reminded himself, to see Victoria Winters somehow as an agent of that rebirth – could he somehow obtain... what? her forgiveness? her blessing? He was about to speak when she spoke again herself.

Gazing up at the moon, she mused, "How difficult it is to believe that the beautiful light of the moon is but a reflection of the light of the ugly sun."

His mind did not quite place the remark, but it seized him as if it were an incantation of the purest evil. He choked out, "Pardon me?"

"You said that to me once. I've always remembered it, because I thought it sounded like poetry at the time. You'll think I'm silly."

"I don't find you a bit silly," he said gravely. He remembered now. He had said the words in one of his failed moonlight seductions. Why did it terrify him so? Of course that was a moment that had played out the same in this time as in his... He thought back; no, he hadn't even met Julia yet at that time. But it chilled him to think she remembered it.

She turned back to him suddenly, a look of apprehensiveness clouding her features which a moment before had been so serene. As she studied his eyes, apprehensiveness in turn deepened to fear. Unconsciously, she took a step backward.

"Miss Winters–" He approached her, hoping to soothe her, but at the invocation of that name her look of fear deepened, and he knew he had said the wrong thing; "Miss Winters" could only remind her of those days of their early acquaintance, when he was more monster than man... But she could not have really known how much danger she was in then... Trying to recover the misstep, he asked, "Are you all right?"

She shook her head, touching her forehead lightly with her fingertips, as if she had only been momentarily confused. She looked back at him, fear replaced with mere uncertainty. He moved toward her again, and was relieved that she did not back away from him this time. She tried to smile, but it registered as more of a grimace.

"I'm a little bit cold," she said, and she did shiver. He was not convinced it was entirely from the chill in the air.

"Take my jacket, please," he said, and began to unbutton it, wishing to keep her with him at least long enough to understand this sudden change in her.

"No, thank you, I think I'd rather go in," she blurted out, and before he could respond or accompany her she turned and rushed back inside.

He rubbed his chin as he watched her go, plainly shocked by the change that had come over her. What had he said? What had he done wrong? He almost felt as if he were about to find the words to make some peace with their past, when suddenly – she seemed terrified of him, as if he might attack her, just as he might have done once, as in fact he had tried to do on this very spot. But she could not have known that, except possibly subconsciously... He replayed their brief conversation over in his head. He was sure he had been careful not to say anything wrong. And now – what did she know? What would she do?

He watched the open door Vicky had disappeared through as these questions raced through his brain, concentrating on that empty space to focus his thoughts. He flinched involuntarily when another figure filled the space, moving toward him, her eyes locking on his, refocusing his thoughts for him. "No..." he breathed, a useless protest, for the split second before it happened understanding with crystal clarity what was happening to him before it all went black again and he understood nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing.

Standing before him, arms crossed, gloating, gleeful, was Jennifer.


	43. Chapter 43

Julia whirled around to see Quentin standing before her, a charming sideways smile on his face, and a second drink in his outstretched hand. 

She accepted the drink, returning his smile, but said in an admonishing tone, "This will be plenty for a while. What are you trying to do, get me drunk?"

Quentin shook his head in mock dismay. "You're beginning to sound just like your husband. Who, by the way, just snuck off with my girl. The very moment my back was turned!"

"I noticed," she said, laughing. "Why 'stranger'?"

He looked at her quizzically for a moment, before realizing he had just labeled her as such. "Ah. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me purposefully."

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "What ever gave you that idea?"

Quentin lowered his voice and stepped closer so he could not be overheard. "I thought you knew that you were the one thing standing between me and running off after Chris."

"I should think Vicky would be another," Julia said, crossing her arms.

Quentin made a gesture of dismissal. "Eh, she's run off with Barnabas anyhow. To hell with her." 

"Quentin, seriously." She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "You have other things to keep you here now, don't you?"

Quentin wagged a finger at her. "Don't change the subject. You told me you'd let me know if you found out anything from Amy, but I haven't heard from you in days."

Cocking her head to one side, Julia asked him, "Are you suddenly concerned about Chris again because you're afraid of making a commitment to Vicky?"

"There you go again, changing the subject! You're very skilled at it, doctor." He sighed, giving in. "If you tell me what you know, I will submit to any probing into my personal life you may care to undertake."

Julia studied his face for a long moment, trying to make a crucial decision quickly. She decided to trust him again – at least up to a point. "I did hypnotize Amy, but I wasn't able to learn much. She became distraught when I asked her to delve into her dreams, to talk about Chris. She kept saying something terrible was happening to him, during the full moon, but I couldn't get her to explain what."

"Well, she always was very sensitive to it, even if she didn't seem to understand what it meant," Quentin said. 

Julia nodded, then frowned. "Yes, but then she began to talk as if she could see him – dying."

Quentin clutched her arm, his face going white. "Dying? Where? What's happening to him?"

"I couldn't get her to tell me anything more, she became so hysterical." She adopted a more soothing tone, seeing his panicked response. "But I honestly think these were only fears, terrible imaginings of hers. She couldn't identify a single real detail."

He persisted, "Didn't she tell you anything we could go on to try to find him?"

"No," she said, trying to sound adamant, final. "As I said, she became distraught, and I had to bring her out of it."

Quentin still was not satisfied. "Then that must be what's causing her attacks. She's making herself sick, worrying about him all the time. If I could find him, that might be the best thing anyone could do for her–"

"Quentin, I appreciate that you want to help," she said, warmly but firmly. "But Barnabas and I are doing everything we can for her."

"I didn't mean to imply..." he began, sheepishly.

"I know you didn't. I also know you're a man of action and it drives you crazy to sit still."

"Yeah," he said, sparing a single bitter sort of a laugh for himself.

Julia continued, gently, on more comfortable ground with this turn in their conversation. "But you have good reason to stay still now. And you're fighting it, aren't you?"

"That's your way of bringing the conversation around to me and Vicky again, eh? Very clever," he acknowledged wryly. 

"Are you keeping her at arm's length?"

"You know I have to, Julia. It's not fair, to her, as long as..." He drifted off, no need to complete the thought. "Well, it goes for me as well as Chris. We're cursed."

"If Barnabas had believed the same thing, we wouldn't be here tonight," Julia said, a touch smug, as if she had checkmated him.

He did not recognize it as such. He asked, seemingly baffled, "What do you mean?"

Julia's stomach lurched – could the Quentin of this time not know about Barnabas' past? Again it felt so natural, so comforting to talk to him that she had almost forgotten he was not her Quentin. If this Quentin had come to be in the present in some other way, he might have never known Barnabas as a vampire.

She tried to cover quickly by speaking in generalities. "You know – if he had not let go of his past, we never could have moved forward together."

Quentin nodded slowly, trying to make the connection from one comment to the next, but she was spared any further questioning as they noticed Vicky rushing back into the drawing room, looking distracted and upset. 

"Julia, if you'll excuse me, I'd better–" He was off to look after her without waiting to finish his sentence, much less for her response.

Julia looked back at the doorway Vicky had emerged from, to see if Barnabas would follow her. He did not. Suddenly concerned, she was about to go after him when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned around to have the wind knocked out of her again at the sight of him, living and breathing, her good friend Dave Woodard.

"Dave," she gasped, forcing a laugh to cover her anxiety. "You frightened me."

He returned her laugh in kind, apologizing, "I didn't mean to, Julia, I'm sorry. I seem to be doing a lot of that, lately."

Julia took a long sip of her drink, as much to buy time to collect her thoughts as for the necessary shot of courage. 

"I'm just kidding you, Julia," he laughed before she needed to find a response. "Congratulations," he said, extending his arms to invite her into an embrace.

She hesitated, but seeing no choice, awkwardly stepped forward to hug him. It was a cold, uneasy hug on her part, but she hoped it would not seem out of character to him. They had never been friendly in quite that way, after all – at least not before their two bands of time split. 

"Thank you, Dave," she said, pulling away. Half wanting to get away from him, half wanting to see what was keeping Barnabas on the terrace, she said, "Dave, I really do want to speak with you tonight, but do you mind if I catch up with you later? I was just on my way to–"

"I'd rather we talk now, Julia," he said, plunging ahead as if he didn't care whether she had the time or not. His voice was kind, but his face had turned quite steely. "Is Barnabas feeling well, these days?"

Julia blinked rapidly, trying to understand the meaning behind his remark. From his attitude, it was clear there was one. "Of course he is. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was just having an interesting conversation with Elliot Stokes. It reminded me of something I haven't thought of in a long time, how ill he was when we first met him. And it occurred to me how terrible it was of me never to ask either of you how he was these days."

"Why, he's just fine, Dave. He's – completely cured."

"Cured, eh?" Dave's eyebrows shot up at the word. "Of quite a rare affliction, as I recall."

"Yes," she said, setting her jaw, an expression she knew he would recognize of old as one that signified she had little else to say about the matter.

Dave pressed her anyway, as she knew he would. "Why didn't you ever publish on it, if it was so rare? It doesn't seem like you, to resist a chance to break new ground, make a name for yourself..."

She shrugged, as if it amounted to very little. "He preferred to keep his illness from the family. And I respected his wishes."

Dave shook his head slightly. Her explanation didn't add up. "You would hardly have had to expose his identity to write about it. Besides, why such a secret?"

"Call it his vanity, Dave, I don't know," she said, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

"It's so strange I never thought to ask you about it all this time, until Elliot brought it up. Almost as if I had forgotten about it completely..."

Julia's eyes widened slightly at this, the mention of forgetting. Nervously, as if afraid of setting off a live wire, she asked, "Why did Elliot bring it up?"

"Elliot asks a lot of very perceptive questions," he said, turning to give her a long, intent look. "He set me thinking about a great many things I seem to have forgotten about."


	44. Chapter 44

Barnabas walked back into the drawing room slowly, vaguely aware of something amiss but unable to quite place it. Vicky had acted strangely and left suddenly – that he remembered. Their conversation had not gone as planned. He needed to catch up with her and put things right between them – shouldn't she just be a few paces ahead of him? He looked around the drawing room and could not see her anywhere. He did not remember the time that had passed after she left him – only a lingering feeling of uneasiness, which drifted away from him the harder he tried to identify it.

"Barnabas, have you seen Julia?" Elliot approached him, with an urgency in his gait and on his face that Barnabas had rarely seen.

"No, not for a while..." Barnabas became confused again, wondering just how much time had passed since he last saw her.

"I wanted to speak to her before–" His eyes landed on Julia and Dave speaking across the room. "Well. I see I am too late."

"Too late for what, Elliot?" Barnabas asked, anxious, following his gaze to the pair. "What's happened?"

"After everything I told you and Julia about being careful not to alter things in this time, I am afraid I may unwittingly have done exactly that."

"What have you done?" Barnabas demanded in a harsh whisper.

"I happened to mention what you and Julia explained to me, about your strange blood disease–" 

Barnabas was becoming increasingly worried, and increasingly angry. "Why would you bring that up to Woodard?"

"I was trying to understand it from another angle. If you're so certain that's the difference between our two bands of time you're clearly missing some important aspect of it," Elliot said with an air of calm rationality that only further irritated Barnabas. "Why shouldn't I mention it to him? He seemed to know all about it. You and Julia evidently told him the same story."

"Story?" Barnabas threw back, allowing the remark to get under his skin. He tried to force himself to focus on the matter at hand. "Well, what happened when you broached the subject with him?"

"It was the strangest thing, as if a lightbulb had suddenly clicked on for him, as if it reminded him of any number of things he had forgotten about."

"What things?" Barnabas asked, trying not to sound desperate.

Elliot rubbed his chin, mentally replaying their conversation. "Well – he asked me if you had a sister, and I told him I didn't know any of your immediate family, but if you did I expected she resides in England. And then he asked whether I had ever been in your basement, which struck me as a curious question indeed, but he either couldn't or wouldn't say why he asked. Why do you suppose he asked that, Barnabas?"

"I have no idea," Barnabas blanched, turning to look at Julia and Woodard again, seeing she was clearly struggling with his questions, too. He needed to go to her – but Elliot wouldn't release him.

"When I could not answer any of his questions to his satisfaction, he went looking for Julia." Elliot studied Barnabas' reaction closely. "You know what he was after, don't you?"

"I have absolutely no idea, but I had better go find out," he said, no longer caring what Elliot thought about it, only knowing he had to try to help Julia.

Elliot persisted, with restored confidence, feeling he had the upper hand and was getting close to something. "Barnabas, I will ask you again. Is there anything else about that time I should know about?"

Barnabas' worries and very real frustration with Elliot sent him nearly into a rage. "Do you ever learn to keep your nose out of matters that don't concern you? It's your insatiable curiosity, Elliot, that started this mess!"

Elliot, however, remained calm. "Why is it a mess, Barnabas? What is there to know about you that you don't want me, or Dave Woodard, to know? What are you hiding?"

\----------------------------

 

Julia eyed Dave Woodard nervously, trying to call to mind quickly the words that might steer him gracefully onto another subject, but she knew him too well for that. Ever since medical school they had been evenly matched in many ways: intelligence and talent, yes, but above all sheer tenacity. She knew he was not one to back off when he was onto something. He didn't when they were vying to be top of their class, and he didn't when he had become suspicious about Barnabas in her own time. She wondered how this Julia and Barnabas had managed to stop Dave's inquisitive mind. The way he acted bore all the signs of flashes of memory coming back after being suppressed through hypnosis.

"Elliot asks a lot of very silly questions, too," Julia attempted to sidestep Dave's line of attack with a lighthearted remark, knowing it was at best a delaying tactic.

"Julia, doesn't Barnabas have a sister?" Dave asked point-blank.

"Speaking of silly questions," Julia laughed. "No, he's an only child. What made you wonder that?"

"I could have sworn he did," he said, shaking his head. "It's the strangest thing, Julia, but I could almost swear I'd even met her..."

She adopted a teasing tone. "Your memory isn't what it used to be, Dave. You must be mixing it up with some other little girl."

Dave perked up at this. "What makes you say 'little girl'?"

She knew she had made a misstep, but tried to cover. "You were talking about a sister–"

"But if Barnabas had a sister, wouldn't you logically assume she would be close in age to Barnabas himself? Why a little girl?"

She threw her arms up as if it were totally irrelevant. "I don't know, Dave, I–"

He interrupted her, excited. "That's what's so strange, Julia, I remember a little girl! You must remember her, too!"

His evident trust in her – he seemed to believe that she was not lying to him, but only needed to try harder to remember – broke her heart. But she must lie to him. If need be, she must hypnotize him again. No, not again, she promised herself; she would not do it again. It seemed to be another voice altogether that reminded her: to save Barnabas, you would do it again, and again, and again. To save Barnabas, you would do anything.

"Dave, I don't know what to tell you," Julia said firmly. "I've been married to the man for three years tonight, remember? He doesn't have a sister. There was no little girl, not until Amy."

"Well, maybe I am confusing it with something else..." Dave mused, uncertain, looking off into the sea of guests vaguely.

Julia breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, if he would just let it go...

"Dave..." Julia began gently, bringing his attention back to her. This was a good chance to distract him. And a good chance to say what she came, in part, to say to him. "Dave, I wanted to thank you. You know, I never have thanked you, for being such a good friend to me, all these years."

"Aw, Julia, you don't have to thank me for that." He seemed slightly embarrassed. After years of one-upmanship in medical school, and fights over their conflicting methods professionally, they respected one another, they knew each other well, but they were not warm friends.

"But I want to, Dave. You see, you're the oldest friend I have. You know me better than almost anyone, next to Barnabas. Anyhow, you know the woman I was before Barnabas, which no one else here does."

"Yes, I know what a change he's made in your life," he said, smiling, evidently forgetting all about Sarah again.

Julia felt her emotions were close to overtaking her, but she had to say just one more thing. "I just want you to know that I never want to do anything to hurt you, Dave, and if I have, I'm–"

The apology she intended to express died in her throat. His smile faded rapidly. He was looking at her with eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if he hadn't heard a word she said, still focused on the last thought. "Julia, what I really wonder is, what sort of change you've made in his life. And I'm beginning to get an idea."

\----------------------------

 

"Elliot, I haven't the time or the patience for this," Barnabas countered through gritted teeth. "You yourself wanted to get to Julia before Dave Woodard could, but again you are allowing yourself to be consumed by this absurd interest you have in my past. Again your meddling is endangering our position in this time!"

Elliot raised his voice for the first time, impatient with Barnabas' attitude. "If Dave Woodard can do any damage, I need to understand what that is so I can find the way out of it!"

"You're the only one I see doing any damage here tonight, and I'll be damned if I let you go one more moment believing you're the one who will save us all from ourselves with your wisdom!"

Before he could respond, Elizabeth swept into their conversation, a dangerous sort of smile on her face. "Elliot, wise? I'd be pleased to offer a second opinion on that score." 

She did not seem to have heard much more of their conversation. Barnabas was quite happy to let her take over goading Elliot – she had more grounds to.

"Cousin Elizabeth," Barnabas turned to her with his most charming smile, "I would be pleased to hand the reins over to you. If you'll both excuse me, I will give you the privacy you may need to express your full and honest opinion."

Cornered, Elliot could not protest against either one of them. Released with a curt nod and a wink from Elizabeth, Barnabas turned and made a beeline toward Julia and Dave. 

Julia seemed to have the conversation well in hand now; Barnabas could only see the back of her head, but Dave looked confused, less on offense than he had a few minutes ago. He tried to keep his eyes on them as guests passed in front of him, blocking his view, some shouting congratulations at him that he quickly waved or nodded at in quick acknowledgment. 

Jennifer passed by with a young man on her arm, laughing, paying Barnabas no attention; he felt a jolt of – what exactly? the emotion was gone as soon as he had felt it, and he stood there trying to make sense of it until she had moved out of sight. Then, turning back, he gasped to see Maggie standing in front of him, blocking his path. 

"I've been looking for you all night," she said with a signature smirk he had not seen in a very long time.


	45. Chapter 45

"Maggie!" Barnabas was startled, first by almost running into her, then by the sight of her very pregnant body. He knew she was with child, but it was another thing to see it with his own eyes. It was another thing again to see her at all, healthy and happy, after the way her counterpart had disappeared so suddenly and sadly from his own life.

"Oh, I startled you, I'm sorry," she laughed, leaning in to hug him as best she could. "Congratulations. How are you?"

He pulled back, smiling warmly. "I'm very well." 

"You looked like a man on a mission when I saw you," she observed.

"I was..." He looked off at Julia and Dave again, trying to think of a polite way to disentangle himself from this conversation. 

Maggie followed his gaze. "Ah, to find Julia, I see. Hey, don't you know, the party is meant to be for your guests? You two will have plenty of time for each other when it's over."

"Oh," he chuckled, understanding her meaning, embarrassed because he secretly hoped the evening might progress along the lines she was implying. However it turned out, he thought, would be just fine, as soon as he could get her alone again...

Maggie gave him a playful shove. "Anyway, aren't you going to ask me how I'm doing? Or is it too obvious to bother?"

"Of course not, forgive me," he said, losing hope of extricating himself. "How are you, Maggie? You look beautiful."

"I look like a hippopotamus," she laughed, "but it'll be over any day now, and then I'm sure I'll miss it."

"Any moment, by the looks of you," he returned lightly.

"Maybe!" She laughed again, reaching out to touch his arm affectionately as she did so, and almost losing her balance in the process. Afraid to grasp her anywhere near her pregnant midsection, and afraid if he didn't act forcefully she would fall and injure herself or the baby, he pulled her up hard by her upper arm. 

When she was righted she pulled her arm free from his grip. She looked up at him not with relief, gratitude, or another bantering remark, but rather with something more closely akin to fear. It was an expression similar to the one Vicky had regarded him with earlier, on the terrace. It was an expression similar to the one Maggie herself used to wear when he had tried to condition her to become Josette. That was the same look of fear she had had then, in her more lucid moments. It was almost as terrifying to him as the placid, glassy stare that replaced it when he had her under his control – that was the expression that haunted his dreams. But this conscious fear could be his waking nightmare.

"Maggie, are you all right?" he asked, as afraid for himself as he was for her.

"Yes," she said, rubbing her arm, continuing to regard him warily, confusion spreading across her features. 

"I'm sorry, Maggie, I didn't mean to pull you up so roughly. I thought you might fall and hurt yourself." He took a couple steps closer to her, intending to comfort her, but she matched him by stepping backwards, trying to keep a safe distance between them. He stopped, afraid she might lose her balance again.

It was just as it had happened with Vicky. He was frozen in terror, not knowing what to do to stop or correct it.

"It's all right," Maggie said slowly, as if trying to figure out whether it truly was or not by the sound of the words. "You just startled me, when you grabbed me – and it reminded me... of something..."

Barnabas thought he might be sick. He could not remember a singular moment, but he was sure he had grabbed her in just that way once, or many times: shoving her in or dragging her out of her locked cell, forcing her into a coffin, pulling her toward him as he lunged for her neck... Stricken, he could see the confusion on her face turn gradually to clarity. Any moment now, she would make the connection, and it all would come back to her...

He felt helpless, speechless, terrified anything he might say would only hasten the inevitable. Anything might set the final block into place in her mind – the mere sound of his voice, perhaps. Even the sight of his face might trigger her memory, he thought, looking uselessly around for some way to disappear.

"Barnabas – you – you..." she stammered as her expression of momentary clarity transformed again, her features now twisted in pain, physical pain. She screamed, clutching her belly, and Barnabas understood what was happening just in time to catch her and bring her safely to the floor. 

"We need a doctor! Julia!" He bellowed, meanwhile tearing off his jacket and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow for Maggie. He lifted her head gently, placing the balled garment underneath. She was moaning and crying softly now, seemingly little more than half-conscious.

Willie, standing nearby, rushed over first. "Barnabas, what's going on? What's wrong with Maggie?"

"I don't know. Get Julia, get Dave Woodard – they were just over there," Barnabas pointed, and Willie was off, yelling for the crowd to clear a path around Maggie as he went. Barnabas bent over Maggie, tenderly brushing the hair out of her eyes, already soaked with sweat, no longer caring for his own safety. He whispered, "I'm sorry, Maggie. Forgive me, forgive me."

Willie rushed over to Julia and Dave, noticing they were deep into an intense conversation, but he barged right in without a thought. "Hey! Hey, Maggie's collapsed, she needs a doctor."

"What happened?" Julia demanded, neither she nor Dave waiting for an answer before following.

"I don't know," Willie said, distraught. "I didn't see it happen, but she was with Barnabas–"

Julia winced, afraid for what may have happened, and wishing Dave hadn't heard that Barnabas had been the last person to see her well. Shoving that thought aside, she reached Maggie and dropped to her knees next to her, taking her pulse. She scanned the crowd quickly, her eyes landing on Carolyn. "Carolyn, you know where I keep my medical bag. Can you get it for me, please?"

Carolyn nodded and ran out of the drawing room as quickly as her dress would permit.

Meanwhile, Dave asked the circle of worried guests that had formed around Maggie to step back, including Barnabas and Joe, who had since arrived at her side. Joe, tears streaming down his face, was about to fight with him, but Barnabas whispered some words of support and helped him to stand. 

Briefly, Julia and Barnabas' eyes met, and they saw their own expressions mirrored on the other's face, clearly broadcasting: what the hell was happening here?

Elizabeth rushed over to them and said, "I've called for an ambulance. They're on their way."

"Is she all right, Dr. Woodard?" Joe asked, terrified.

Dave looked up at him, smiling soothingly. "She's just fine, Joe. Your baby just has a mind of its own, just like its mother."

"You mean–" Joe gasped.

"It's happening, Joe," Dave laughed. "You're going to be a father tonight."

"Oh!" Joe doubled over in relief and joy, his head between his knees.

"Here, Julia!" Carolyn thrust the bag at Julia.

"Thanks, Carolyn," she said, opening it and rifling through it. She pulled out what she was looking for and prepared a syringe. "Joe, we're just going to give her something for her pain. It's completely normal."

"Okay. Okay," Joe nodded, slowly understanding that everything was going to be all right. "Can I sit with her now?"

"Of course," Julia said, standing, gesturing for him to take her place while Dave continued to monitor Maggie's condition. Julia looked around for Barnabas. He had been standing directly behind her, but he seemed to have disappeared. She turned to Carolyn again and asked, "Did you see where Barnabas went?"

Carolyn looked about, confused, too. "I don't know, Julia, he was just here."

Julia scanned the room, her concern growing by the second. She didn't see him. She didn't see him anywhere.

\-----------------------

 

Barnabas stood next to Jennifer in the moonlight, otherwise shrouded by the shadows cast by the large trees just outside the front doors of Collinwood. 

"You know what you're to do, don't you?" Jennifer said, stroking his face lightly with her fingertips.

"Yes," he said, staring back at her blankly, as if her touch did not affect him in any way.

"I don't want any more than what you owe me, Barnabas," she said, her voice kind but her words menacing.

"I understand," he said.

"This is simply the difficult step we must get through. Everything will be much easier, much happier, once this is done."

"Yes," he said.

She smiled, satisfied. "I'm glad you've had a chance to reconnect with both Vicky and Maggie tonight. Now that you've seen them again, you know you really don't love them, don't you?"

"No, I don't love them."

She moved closer to him, speaking more softly, more intimately. "And what's more, you never did, did you?"

Her proximity did not change the flatness, the near monotone, of his replies. "No, now that I know what real love is, I know I never did."

Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Not even your precious Josette?"

"No. I did not feel this way, even with Josette."

"Good," she purred. Seeing the paramedics coming down the path to the house carrying a stretcher between them, she turned back to him to end their interlude. "In that case, I will see you again soon, my love, and our life together can finally begin." Before she could be seen, Jennifer slipped into the house, leaving him alone outside.

The moment she left, Barnabas seemed to snap out of it. Confused, disoriented, he found he had no memory of how he had come to be outside. He saw the paramedics, too, and remembered Maggie. He decided he must have come outside to meet them. He stepped forward and called out to them, "Straight through to the drawing room." He walked inside with them, pointing the way.

The paramedics passed him, rushing in to where Maggie lay on the drawing room floor. When they cleared the door, he saw Julia standing in the doorway. On her face was a questioning look he would have to answer to.


	46. Chapter 46

Barnabas moved quickly to Julia's side, then guided her with one hand lightly at her elbow to a quieter corner of the foyer. "Is everything all right, Julia?"

She didn't answer his question, having another more immediately on her mind. "What were you doing outside with Jennifer?"

He was taken aback. "I went out to wait for the paramedics. Jennifer wasn't there."

"I saw her come in a few moments before you did, Barnabas."

"Well, I didn't see her out there."

She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether she quite believed him or not. Then she brushed it aside, unthinkable that he would lie about it. "I wish I knew what she was up to..."

He repeated his earlier inquiry, which seemed much more pressing a concern. "Is everything all right with Maggie?"

"Yes, she's fine. She's just in labor, Barnabas," she smiled at him gently.

He looked relieved, but not his mind was not completely laid to rest. "But why did she collapse that way?"

Julia spoke calmly, explaining as she might to the loved one of a patient, trying to put him at ease. "It's her first pregnancy. She probably didn't quite know what to expect when the contractions began. For some women they can be quite painful."

He shook his head slightly, frowning. "I saw it when it first happened. It didn't seem normal to me. I was afraid I caused it – perhaps I did. She–" he hesitated, looking around to make sure no one was near. Everyone was still in the drawing room. "She seemed to be beginning to remember. So did Vicky, earlier, but she ran off before I could understand the way she acted."

At this, Julia joined him in worrying. "Barnabas, Dave seemed to be remembering things, too."

"That's Elliot's doing," Barnabas said, annoyed at the memory of their earlier conversation.

"Nevermind who's responsible; we're all going to be affected by it."

Barnabas twisted his ring nervously, looking to her for an answer that might allay his fears. "Something feels wrong, Julia. I can't explain it, but I don't feel right."

She looked at him closely, steadying his fidgeting hands with her own. "Don't you feel well?"

"No, I'm not ill." He searched for the words to describe the strange feeling that had come over him. He was upset by it, but comforted by her concern and tenderness. "It's only a feeling, that something is off, that something terrible is about to happen. What is going on here, Julia?"

Before she could answer, the paramedics were wheeling Maggie out, Joe and Dave following a step behind. Julia gave Barnabas' arm a squeeze and rushed forward to pull Dave aside. "There was no change in her condition, was there, Dave?"

"No, she'll be just fine, Julia. I'm going to the hospital with them – more to keep Joe calm than anything else." He turned to Barnabas and said, "She was lucky you were there, Barnabas."

"Oh, I didn't do anything–" Barnabas demurred. 

Dave insisted, "If you hadn't caught her before she fell, she really might be in trouble now."

"I'm glad you're going with her, Dave," Julia said warmly.

Anxiously looking after the paramedics, Dave said hurriedly, "Yes, well, I'll catch up with you both later." He jogged off to keep up with them.

Julia took the few steps to stand close by Barnabas' side again, waiting until Dave was well out the door before saying, "Maybe it's all right. He doesn't seem suspicious, now."

Barnabas frowned, not convinced. "He has other things on his mind, now. He'll have more questions later."

Roger poked his head out into the foyer. "Ah, so that's where you two have been hiding. If you would be so kind, you're wanted inside."

They followed him in and saw Elizabeth standing in the center of the crowd, where Maggie had been, evidently trying to salvage the party. The sight of paramedics and a pregnant woman on the floor seemed to have killed the mood. Elizabeth's face lit up when she saw them reenter the room. "As you heard, mother and baby are doing just fine – in fact, that gives us two reasons to celebrate tonight! So I hope everyone will stay and continue to have a wonderful time –"

Quentin took it upon himself to start up the music again. Elizabeth caught his eye and smiled at him gratefully, but the majority of the guests continued to stand around awkwardly, wanting to indulge their hostess but still shaken by Maggie's departure.

Elizabeth looked over to the guests of honor hopefully. "Julia, Barnabas – perhaps you can lead the way?"

"It would be our pleasure," Barnabas smiled broadly, first at Elizabeth, then turning to Julia, offering his hand, which she accepted with a smile of her own. As he led her to an empty spot on the floor, he gave her hand a squeeze, hoping it might convey that this was not merely a favor for a friend, but also the pretext for what he'd been wanting to do all night. 

He drew her into a formal dance hold – formal, but close, one hand taking its time in finding its place on her back, caressing her through the fabric of her dress before coming to rest. He could feel her shiver slightly at his unexpected touch, then relax completely in his arms. He had held her before, but never like this. It made him feel giddy, invincible, confident despite all that had happened that everything would be all right.

Needing her to believe it, too, he voiced his thoughts out loud: "I think everything is going to be all right, Julia."

"You've changed your tune suddenly," she noted, but he could tell by her demeanor that she had, too. If they could be this for each other, always, they could face down any threat.

"Maggie's going to be all right, Woodard seemed fine when he left. Look, there's Vicky," he nodded in her direction, laughing as Quentin led her into a dance too. "She isn't upset. Perhaps we were reading too much into things."

"Perhaps we were," she agreed. "Our fears getting the best of us."

"I don't intend to live in fear of the past anymore, Julia," he said, looking at her intently.

"Good," she said softly, leaning closer to rub her cheek lightly against his and letting it rest there. She moved her hand from his shoulder to circle his neck, tenderly drawing him closer. He knew she was not afraid, either. He knew she understood what was happening, too. There would be no more misunderstandings between them.

One by one, the other couples joined them in dancing, surrounding them so that they had to be half-conscious of where they stepped. But neither really noticed anyone else, they were so completely wrapped up in each other. No one else seemed to matter, and no one else could come between them. As long as she was in his arms he felt safe, and he knew he could keep her safe. 

"I think we should stay just long enough to please Elizabeth," he whispered in her ear. "But let's slip out as soon as we can."

"Yes, that's a very good idea," she said. He could feel her lips moving against his skin. He closed his eyes, thrilled by the feeling of it.

The song ended, and they both pulled back, enough to look one another in the eye, each silently verifying they were not alone in this. They found the confirmation they sought. Certain, he was all the more resolved to say what was in his heart as soon as they returned to the Old House. But she, also certain, saw no reason to delay any further.

"Barnabas..." She dropped the dance posture entirely, letting her hands fall to her sides, standing in front of him with no further need of pretenses or secrets. She took both his hands in hers, and took a deep breath. "Barnabas, even if I never say it again, I have to tell you, just once–"

Both were so deeply caught up in this deeply personal moment that they nearly jumped out of their skin when Roger intruded, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Your adoring public is clamoring for a speech," Roger jested, gesturing to the dozens of people now doing nothing but standing about, watching them. "Why don't you share some of those sweet nothings with the rest of us voyeurs?"

Julia and Barnabas both tried to mask their irritation at the interruption, attempting to gracefully refuse. But Roger insisted, and certain voices in the crowd – Willie, Quentin – rose up to heckle them until they capitulated. Elizabeth cast an apologetic glance their way, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

"All right," Barnabas laughed, putting his hands up in resignation. He looked at Julia and smiled nervously. Perhaps he could do with a practice run after all. He turned toward the guests who had gathered around, Julia at his side. 

Barnabas cleared his throat. "My dear cousin Elizabeth did promise there would be no speeches, but I forgive her. It has been a lovely party, and we both thank you, Elizabeth, for everything you have done for us, both grandly tonight, and in all of your other small ways, every day. And we also want to thank all of you, all of our family and friends, for sharing this occasion with us. It means the world to us."

Becoming more obviously nervous, he continued. "And above all, I want to thank the woman who has made me happier than I ever dreamed of being. Although I little deserve it, and although it took me far too long to realize it, I wanted to say, in front of everyone, how much I know I have always loved – Jennifer."

The guests before him gasped audibly, appalled and unsure of what to do. Barnabas stood motionless, horrified, unable to act or say a word more. Julia could not suppress her initial shock, but her face became stone as she simply turned and walked out of the room, shrugging off those who tried to reach out to her as she passed. No one noticed Jennifer standing at the back of the room, a gleeful smile on her face.


	47. Chapter 47

After long moments of horrifying silence, Barnabas finally sprang into action, as if a leash he'd been straining against had been cut. "Julia!" he called after her, desperate, beginning to follow her out of the drawing room.

Quentin stopped him, standing in his path and holding him back, growling, "What in hell is wrong with you?"

"I have to go to her–" Barnabas insisted, trying in vain to get around the taller, stronger man.

"I think perhaps you'd better give her a few minutes alone," Quentin said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Barnabas shrunk back, looking around the room at the sea of faces casting sidelong glances of disgust and disbelief at him. They were all so fiercely protective of Julia. He could not have explained what he said to them if he tried – and he wouldn't know where to begin if he did.

"Please," he said quietly, trying to keep the others from overhearing. "This is between Julia and myself alone."

"And Jennifer," Willie said, a bit snidely, stepping into the conversation, avoiding Carolyn's grasp as she tried to pull him back.

"Willie, please," Barnabas said, halfway between an order and a plea.

"You're a fool, Barnabas," Willie snarled, evidently not responding well to Barnabas' masterly attitude in this time. "How could you do it to her?"

"I didn't mean to – I didn't mean it–" he protested wretchedly. 

"Perhaps it would be best if you left now," Quentin said. "She won't want to see you."

"It's none of your concern!" Barnabas yelled, angrily pulling away from his grip and shoving past him, following Julia's path out of the drawing room and upstairs.

Willie laid a hand on Quentin's arm to stop him from pursuing him, shaking his head. He said quietly, "We shouldn't make more of a scene than he already has."

Catching Vicky's eye and seeing her imploring him to back down, Quentin took a deep breath and let it go. "All right. I'll finish with him later."

Roger turned to Elizabeth, incredulous as they all were. "What should we tell the guests?" he whispered.

"I'm not worried about that just now," she said, an icy calm in her voice he well knew signified a particularly dangerous sort of rage simmered beneath. Her eyes scanned the room, her mind clearly on something else.

"What in god's name has gotten into him?" Roger wondered, throwing his hands up.

"One way or another, this is her doing," Elizabeth hissed. Her eyes found the target she sought. Roger knew better than to stand in the way.

The crowd parted as Elizabeth strode through it, all the while fixing a chilly stare on Jennifer standing against the back wall, her hands unconsciously clenched into fists at her sides.

Jennifer looked at her with wide-eyed innocence, shaking her head as if she were just as surprised as the rest of them. "Mrs. Stoddard, I have no idea why Mr. Collins would say such a thing–"

Elizabeth cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. "That's enough. That is absolutely all the damage you are going to do to my family under my roof."

Jennifer gasped. "Oh, I never intended to–"

"I think you had better go," Elizabeth said pointedly, her eyes narrowing to slits.

Jennifer nodded, as if she were making a brave sacrifice for the good of all. With a touch of hurt in her voice, she said, "Of course."

"Don't misunderstand me," Elizabeth said, raising her hand again to delay her a moment. "Leave the party now. Be gone from Collinwood by noon tomorrow."

Jennifer raised herself to her full height, resentful but proud. "As you wish."

"I will write you a check for a month's severance pay," Elizabeth said, reducing her to no more than a business matter.

"I don't need your money," Jennifer spat.

"As you wish," Elizabeth echoed, mocking her. 

With an exaggerated exhalation of breath, Jennifer turned on her heel and walked, head held high, out of the drawing room, undeterred by the whispers that followed her out.

\-----------------------

 

Cautiously, terrified, and with no idea what he could possibly say to put this right, Barnabas slowly opened the door to Julia's bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief to see her standing there by the window, her back to him. He saw her tense as the door clicked shut behind him. She knew someone was there, she knew it was him, but she refused to turn around.

"Julia..." he began softly, feeling he must handle this with extreme delicacy, find just the right words, if there were any chance. "Julia, I am so sorry. You must believe I have no idea why I said that."

"Don't you, really?" Her words were bitter, born of old wounds as much as those recently inflicted.

She kept her back to him. He approached her slowly. "No. I did not mean what I said. This is not how I intended tonight to proceed, believe me."

He reached the window, but kept space between them, afraid to push her, afraid she would run away from him again.

"How could you? How could you say it?" He could see there were tears in her eyes, but they flashed with rage, too. She shook her head, turning away from him again. 

"I don't know. Julia, something is wrong..." He was desperate to explain, but he could not begin to understand it himself. 

"Yes. Yes, you're right," she said, with quiet viciousness. "There is something wrong with you."

"Julia, I'm sorry, please believe me–"

She whirled to face him, the rage in her evidently having mastered the tears. "Why apologize to me?"

He stammered uselessly, equally terrified of her and of hurting her more.

"It has nothing to do with me, after all, does it?" She lashed out. "You've pretty well ruined the marriage of another Julia with a single word, but it has nothing, really, to do with me. Does it?"

"Oh, Julia, no, but –"

"You must think I'm a fool to be so upset."

He shook his head emphatically. "No, I don't think you're a fool. I understand why you're upset. You have every right to be upset. Please, let me –"

She cut him off, disgusted with him and herself. "I can't believe I let it happen again. I had become so used to you building me up and dropping me down, and then going running after some other pretty face--"

He tried to protest, "That is not what I wanted–"

"What is it, Barnabas? Does it boost your ego to keep stringing me along? Are you afraid of how you feel, so you run off to someone safe? Why do you do it?" She shook her head as tears began to form again. "Or is it all in my imagination?"

"No, Julia. No..." he spoke softly, hesitantly reaching out to her. She pulled away violently, and he understood gentleness and caution would not get through to her. He would have to force her to listen. He raised his voice, speaking passionately now. "What I said down there, it is not what I want! It is not how I feel! Oh, Julia, everything you said perhaps has been true, all of it and worse. I know I'm a long way from putting things right between us, and I've done terrible damage tonight."

Although her face was still set in defiance, a mask of self-protection, doing everything she could to hold back her tears, he felt he was beginning to reach her. He softened again, his eyes imploring her to believe him. "I don't know why I said it. I don't understand what I feel when I'm with her." At this, she turned away from him again, sickened. He winced at the misstep, but went on. 

"But I know how I feel when I'm with you." He reached out to her again, taking her by both elbows and making her face him. She did not resist, some part of her still wanting to believe. 

"Please listen to me, please try to understand. It's what I've been trying to tell you all day. I'm not confused when I'm with you. I'm not thinking of anyone else, or trying to be anyone else. And I don't want to try. I know how I feel. Julia, I–"

"Mom? Daddy?" They were interrupted by the sound of Amy's voice in the hall. 

Julia sighed, pulling away from him and hugging her arms around herself as if chilled. She said quietly, not trying to hurt him, merely stating a painful fact. "You've hurt her, too, Barnabas."

He cringed, understanding anew how much hurt he had caused everyone with one careless word he still could not imagine saying. Amy called out for them again, her voice sounding closer.

"Let me go to her; you–" he didn't want to say 'pull yourself together,' but she nodded. She might as well not pretend any longer. She was hurt and they both knew why. He touched her arm tenderly again. "We'll talk more when we go home, yes?"

"All right," she nodded. He looked for a sign from her, but saw neither hope nor hate. He had left her simply numb to it, and it broke his heart.

With a last pained smile that he wished could say all he needed to, he left to intercept Amy in the hall. He could still fix this, somehow. He swore to himself he would.


	48. Chapter 48

Once he left, Julia sighed deeply and turned back to the window, not knowing what to think or feel, trying to clear her mind and reserve judgment. Perhaps he could explain. One word should not damn him forever. The problem was that it fit a pattern, she reminded herself. He may never have encouraged her feelings so directly as he did that day, nor torn them down so heartlessly before – at least, not since the early days... But it was the pattern with him, nonetheless. She found she was simply exhausted. She had no more tears. He could hardly hurt her more now. Deciding this, she made to join him and Amy in the hall. But when she turned around, she found Jennifer standing in the doorway, watching her.

"You. How dare you," she seethed, advancing toward her.

"Oh, Julia. I only came to apologize. And to say goodbye." Despite the words of conciliation, she had dropped the usual innocent act. She sounded distinctly as if she were taunting Julia now.

Julia regarded her suspiciously. "What do you mean, goodbye? Where are you going?"

"Mrs. Stoddard has fired me. She didn't even wait to hear my side of the story, but I can't say I'm surprised. I know she's been wanting to fire me for a long time."

"Because she knew you were having an affair with Barnabas!" Julia speculated, hoping she might at least get some information out of this confrontation.

Jennifer merely shrugged, a small smile on her lips which she made a display of fighting back. 

"Why don't you just come out and tell me everything," Julia said, standing her ground. "Now that I know, you might as well."

Jennifer's smile deepened, plainly relishing the chance. "All right, since you asked. It's been going on for a long time, longer than you would even have imagined. Almost from the day I arrived at Collinwood. He was so desperate for someone, he jumped at the chance. We were together right under your nose. In my bed here, in yours at the Old House, anywhere we could, any time we could."

"Enough," Julia said, disgusted.

"No. You asked, and I shall tell you." Jennifer advanced toward her, her eyes ablaze. "He was tired of his cold, sexless wife. He needed someone to make him feel like a man again."

Julia's eyes went wide with rage, taking it as a personal insult, although the rational side of her knew Jennifer was talking about another couple. But she only had to think about it for a moment before she realized it sounded plainly absurd. She knew herself, and "sexless" was hardly likely to be an accurate description, if she were with the man she loved; and she knew something of the letters that passed between the other Barnabas and Julia, which her Barnabas had described as 'racy...' It sounded more like the way Jennifer would see her. She laughed scornfully. "He told you that, did he?"

"Yes! I'm sorry to put it to you so cruelly, but there it is. And now that he has declared his feelings for me, we're going to start our life together, so you may as well accept it."

Julia watched her critically, slowly feeling as if she had the upper hand. Somehow, Jennifer's protestations were making her more confident in Barnabas than his own. "And in the last few weeks, how has it been between you?"

"When you and Barnabas went off on your weekend trip, leaving poor Amy with Willie and Carolyn, that was his last-ditch effort at making things work between you. When he came back, yes, I will admit, he was cold to me at first. He really did try, Julia. He did love you once. But it's over. He realized that. He realized he truly loves me, and has for some time. It's time you realize that, too."

"Or perhaps you have him under a spell," Julia said slyly.

"In a sense, perhaps I do," Jennifer shrugged.

"I'm not speaking in metaphors," Julia said, adding emphatically and carefully judging the reaction it drew: "Angelique."

Jennifer let out a musical peal of laughter, the laughter of one altogether too pleased with herself, too confident in her plans. Julia smirked in return.

"Oh, very good, Julia," she taunted her, "Yes, in the spirit of speaking the truth, why don't we drop all of our masks and all of our games. Yes, I am Angelique."

"I knew it," Julia said through clenched teeth.

"And since I have spoken my true identity, won't you do me the courtesy of speaking yours?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You are not Barnabas' wife. I know who you are, too, you see. You are Julia Hoffman, lovelorn friend to Barnabas Collins, but never his lover. Oh my dear Julia, are you still pining after that man, when his heart truly belongs to me?"

"You know nothing about our relationship!" Julia reacted defensively, chiding herself the next moment for falling for Angelique's provocations. There were more important questions: How did she know she was another Julia? And how did she seem to know her history with Barnabas?

"I know, Julia. Oh, I know." She laughed again, maddeningly. "I will drop the final mask, then. There should be no secrets between us girls. I know you very well, because, you see, we have met many times, through the centuries."

Julia was confused, but she caught her breath as it began to become clear to her.

Angelique continued, enjoying herself immensely, circling her as she spoke. "Yes, Julia, now you see. I am not merely Angelique. I am the Angelique of your time, and I know your every weakness. I am the Angelique your Barnabas truly loves. Not merely a pale imitation."

"But you died in 1840 – I saw your dead body! You were human, you couldn't have survived it! What deal with the devil did you strike to come back from that?"

"You saw a dead body in 1840, but it was not mine."

Julia blanched at the thought of it. "It was the Angelique of this time."

Angelique nodded, delighted to have recognition for her plot at last.

A terrible possibility occurred to Julia. "Oh god – were we in 1840 in this time band, after all?"

"No, Julia, you may rest easy there. You were in our 1840. And you did defeat Judah Zachary, for which I am most grateful. It saves me so much trouble. Of course, you had the help of my little clone, don't forget that."

Julia shook her head, incredulous. "Why involve a parallel Angelique?"

Angelique sighed, crossing her arms and walking slowly about the room as she recounted her scheme. "When I found Barnabas in 1840, he had slipped through my fingers so many times. I realized the problem was that he was too accustomed to fighting with me to see how deeply he actually loved me. I knew it would take something drastic to force him to come to his senses. Something that would make him see how he would feel if he truly lost me. Something like my death."

"That's insane."

"But it worked, didn't it? I died in his arms, or _an_ Angelique did. And he realized then how he truly felt. He confessed he loved me. He even told you he loved me, didn't he?" 

Julia rolled her eyes. "Some love. He had forgotten all about it within a few days."

Angelique returned snidely, "Or perhaps he told you he had, to spare your feelings."

“Barnabas has never spared me anything,” she said coldly. Then Julia shook her head, not willing to be led down that path. "How did you switch places with her?"

"I followed Quentin's experiments, the Quentin who lived in 1840. He was fascinated with time, as you know, believed it was possible to move through time in all sorts of ways, and he was right. The staircase you know about. What you may not know about is this."

Angelique reached into her dress, pulling out a long gold chain which held a small, gold-tinted ornament. If shone with a light of its own as she turned it over in her hand. Julia realized what it was, exclaiming, "That's the toy Amy described!"

Angelique laughed again. "Yes, Amy did see it once. But this is no toy. It's not quite as powerful as Quentin's staircase. It only works between two very near bands of parallel time, and only within the same time period. But that was precisely what I needed. I switched places with the Angelique of this time in 1840, using this. Then I used Quentin's staircase to come to 1971. I refashioned myself as Jennifer, a governess with glowing references. And I waited for you."

Julia studied the golden orb closely. "You brought us here, with that?"

"Yes. This is the reason you took a little detour on your way up the staircase."

"I can't believe it..." Julia shook her head. Insane was the only word for it – insane as Angelique herself.

"Didn't you ever think it was strange that Angelique didn't seem to remember you? Or that her personality became so different?"

"So Elliot was wrong..." Julia mused, mostly to herself.

"Oh no, Elliot's little theory is quite right." Angelique laughed at Julia's surprised glance. "Oh yes, I know all about that. As I said, there are all sorts of ways to manipulate time. Our two time bands did indeed diverge at a point that he calls, I think, broken symmetry. And yes, he is quite right, if the event that caused the break in time were to recur, it might set everyone back to their correct bands of time. And I know what that event was, too. But I can tell you it was brought on by a very strange series of events, so strange they quite literally broke the universe! They will not be repeated, I can guarantee you that."

Julia took a deep breath, taking it all in. Disturbed, she said, "You intended that Angelique to go to her death."

"Don't act so horrified, Julia," Angelique mocked her. "Didn't you kill your own counterpart, too, in another band of time?"

Julia was aghast, remembering how she had been forced to kill the maid Hoffman before she could kill Barnabas. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, Julia," she laughed. "I know quite a lot from my vantage point."

"Where, in hell?" Julia sneered back at her.

"How I know makes no difference. The point is, you've done just as much as I have."

"That was different."

"That was the exact same." Angelique looked at her pityingly. "We both killed for Barnabas. We're very alike in that regard, aren't we?"

"No," Julia insisted, trying to disguise her inner horror that it could be true. She changed the subject, jeering at her, "This won't work, whatever you have planned. It never does. You always fail spectacularly."

Angelique seemed to acknowledge this as a fair assessment, but countered, "I've wasted my time before. I've allowed myself to be distracted by petty concerns. Now I'm after one thing and one thing only: Barnabas. I've only come for what belongs to me this time."

"What about Amy? You sent her here, to get Barnabas out of the room, didn't you? You've been torturing her, haven't you? Isn't that a petty distraction? What good is it to hurt that little girl?" Julia advanced on her, forcing her to retreat, like a mother tiger whose cub had been threatened.

Angelique retreated but shrugged, indifferent. "It's all the same. It's a means to an end."

"Barnabas will never belong to you. Don't you see, all these manipulations, all these schemes, are not love?"

"Merely a means to an end," she repeated.

Julia sighed in frustration. "Now that you've told me all this, I suppose you aren't going to simply let me go."

"No," Angelique said, frowning, as if it pained her that it had to be so. "I will have to deal with you, Julia. I am sorry about that."

Julia laughed derisively. "What are you going to do, kidnap me, lock me up? You've done it before. Barnabas has always come for me."

"No, nothing like that. In fact, I'd like to do something nice for you, Julia. I am not insensitive to the fact that you have helped me over the years, and I would like to repay you now."

"I don't want anything from you," Julia said, her voice almost a growl.

"I'm giving you a gift, whether you want it or not, Julia. But I warn you, if you ever try to reject my gift and come after what belongs to me, it will come at great personal cost to Barnabas. And therefore great cost to you. His pain is your pain, isn't that right? How sad that his pleasure is never your pleasure."

Boiling over with fury, spurred more by sheer instinct than intention, Julia reached back and slapped Angelique across the face with all her strength, leaving a red mark on her cheek. It did nothing to help her predicament, but she'd be damned if it wasn't satisfying.

Angelique merely laughed again, rubbing her face where she had been struck. She took to pacing the room again as she said, "Think about what you've seen in this time. You might as well accept things as they are, Julia. I am doing you a favor. You ought to confront the fact that even in a band of time where Barnabas actually married you, you lost him the moment he looked at me. He truly loves me. Accept that."

Julia snarled, "I don't believe he did have an affair with you, either Barnabas!"

"I never thought of you as a woman who could deceive herself so completely. Well, Julia, if it does no good to reason with you, I will have to proceed without your cooperation. One day, perhaps, you will thank me."

"What do you mean?" Julia asked, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Angelique stood face-to-face with Julia, locking eyes with her, boring into her with a wild-eyed stare. She raised the gold ornament directly in front of her face. Julia tried to reach up to grab it or swat it out of her hand, but found she could not move. Angelique laughed wickedly, and gave the golden ball, now glowing brightly and casting light all over the room, a single twist. She said, "Goodbye, Julia."

Her words echoed for a moment, suddenly sounding very far away. Then, everything went black.


	49. Chapter 49

Barnabas walked out into the hall, looked to the left and the right, but did not see Amy anywhere. He tried to think where she might have gone looking for them, but couldn't imagine she would start anywhere but Julia's bedroom. He was pained to think she had been there without them knowing it, and had either seen or heard something in his conversation with Julia to upset her further. But he didn't think so; her voice hadn't sounded that close, and the door was shut all the time. He remembered Amy had a room of her own adjoining Julia's for the nights she stayed over at Collinwood, and went to look for her there.

Pausing outside the room, he heard Amy speaking – no, he was sure he heard voices, two distinct voices: Amy's, and another young girl's.

"Sarah?" He burst through the door, driven by desperation to see his beloved sister after so long. But when he entered, Amy was quite alone, sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the window. 

Amy whirled around when Barnabas entered, confused. He could tell she had been crying, though her tears were now dry.

He went to her, sitting on the bed by her side. "Amy, are you all right?"

She nodded, but only mumbled an unconvincing, "Yeah."

Half expecting her to push him away, he put his arm around the girl, waiting to gauge her reaction before proceeding. To his surprise, she did not recoil. After a moment, she leaned her head against his side. Then at least he had not alienated every resident of Collinsport. He squeezed her shoulder, then said, as mildly as he could manage under the circumstances, "Amy, did I hear you talking to someone when I first came in?"

"No," she said, her voice breaking a bit. "I... I talk to myself sometimes." She seemed embarrassed.

"I must be imagining things," he said lightly. "I could have sworn I heard two voices."

"It was only me." She seemed to be upset by it; difficult as it was for him, he let the matter drop for the a moment.

"Amy, you heard what I said downstairs, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered, burrowing her head more deeply against him.

"Do you want to ask me any questions about it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, in that case, I'll tell you what I know. It was what you might call a slip of the tongue, do you know what I mean by that?" He felt her nodding silently against him. "That's just what it was. I meant to say one thing, and for some reason another thing altogether came out of my mouth. It was unfortunate, but it doesn't mean anything. Amy, I love your mother, so very much."

"I just don't–" Amy began, then stopped herself. 

She did not need to finish for him to understand her worries. "I promised you nothing would ever happen to change our family, do you remember? You know I would never break a promise, don't you?"

"I know."

"Amy, when I first came in, you know the person I believed you were speaking to was a girl named Sarah." He paused, waiting for her reaction. She neither moved nor spoke. He continued, "Do you know a girl named Sarah?"

She sat up straight, pulling away so that he could see her shake her head.

"No, you don't know her, or no, you won't say?" he asked gently.

"Please don't ask me," she whispered, her eyes wide with fright. 

As desperate as he was to know, something about her reaction made him afraid to push her any further, at least for now. "All right, Amy. I understand. But can I ask you one thing?"

Amy nodded warily.

"If you ever do meet a girl named Sarah, who has long dark hair, and is a couple years younger than you – if you meet that girl, please tell her Barnabas wants to see her. Can you do that for me?"

Amy nodded again.

"All right. Listen, Amy, would you mind waiting for me downstairs? I'll find your mother, and we'll be right down to take you home."

"Okay," Amy said, and after a last reassuring hug from Barnabas, she left.

He watched her go, waiting for her to walk a safe distance down the hallway before he stood, looking toward the window Amy had been facing when he heard – could have sworn he heard – her talking to Sarah. Nothing was out of the ordinary, no sign of anything. He opened the window, craning his neck outside, looking in every direction. He did not know what he was looking for, but he certainly did not find it.

He paced around a bit. Strange things were happening, things that seemed real but he knew were not. But all the same he knew what he heard. Julia had heard her before, too. Somehow, he was sure of it, Amy was communicating with Sarah. She had been close, very close. He ached to see her – oh, how it would comfort him to see her now.

"Sarah?" he called out quietly, knowing it was futile, and possibly insane. Walking back to the window, he tried again, more loudly, "Sarah!"

Nothing happened, as he expected. He sank down on the bed, pouring his heart out to no one at all, pouring his heart out just in case. "Sarah, I know you were here. I hope you can hear me. Sarah, I would do anything to see you. What can I do to see you once more?"

He paused, and received no response. "I'm not your brother, Sarah. But I'm very much like him. I have a sister, very much like you. It would help me so to see you.

"My sister left me because I was a bad man. She told me she would never appear to me again, until I became a good man. I have tried to be a good man, Sarah, and I know I am not. Perhaps I never will be, but I am trying.

"Is your brother a good man? Do you appear to him? Oh, Sarah, I hope you do."

He sighed and rose to his feet, defeated. Here he was chasing ghosts of the past again, which he swore to Julia he would not do. Meanwhile she was alone, hurting because of something stupid he had done, again. He was not a good man, he felt sure of it all at once. He did not deserve Sarah's love, and he did not deserve Julia's. But Sarah was only a child; she thought of good and bad as absolutes, just as he had taught her to do. She could not understand what sort of a man he was, but Julia could. Julia understood, and she accepted him as he was – at least he knew she could, up to a point. It would haunt him for the rest of his life if Sarah could never forgive him, but he would hardly have a life worth living if Julia could not. Would it be enough, he wondered, if he went to her now and told her just that?


	50. Chapter 50

The next moment Julia was aware of, she was lying down, confined in a tight space in total darkness, barely able to move. She blinked rapidly while her eyes adjusted to what little light was available. Slowly, she realized she was not in any pain; in fact she was quite comfortable. She was under the covers of a very cozy bed. She could not move because she was nestled against a man's body, his arm draped around her. By the smell of him alone, she knew it was Barnabas. By the rise and fall of his breathing, she knew he was asleep.

Careful not to wake him, Julia lifted her head to get a sense for her surroundings. Yes, she was definitely back in their bedroom at the Old House. She tried but could not remember going to bed, or even returning to the Old House. She did not remember finishing her conversation with Barnabas, which certainly would have happened before she would have slept in bed next to him again – and it would have had to have been a damned convincing conversation to be sleeping this intimately with him. She felt groggy, confused, and his nearness was not helping to clear her mind. It occurred to her there was another reason she felt so strange, but she couldn't quite latch onto it...

Barnabas groaned softly as he shifted position in bed, his arm wrapping around her more tightly, burying his head in her neck. She sighed, closing her eyes. This was not a turn of events she would have expected to complain about; she only wished she could remember how it had happened. Part of her knew something was wrong; part of her wanted to give herself over to this moment completely. This moment she had alternately thought about and sworn off thinking about for the better part of four years of her life – oh, was that it? she wondered, cringing inwardly. Was it just another dream, a very lifelike dream? Well, if it were a dream, she could safely give herself over to it, couldn't she?

After the last conversation she could remember with him, she was angry, hurt, but if it was a dream, perhaps it was her mind's way of telling her to open up to him, to trust him. Or else it was her mind's way of healing the wound with the only comfort she really wanted. Oh, to hell with it, she was no Freudian; dreams were after all only dreams. 

Testing the waters, she reached out with the one hand she could move freely and touched him, gingerly at first, running her fingertips along his shoulder and neck, then burying her fingers in his hair. He made another little sleepy noise of pleasure in response, a sound that was unfamiliar and exciting to her. She could feel the vibrations from his throat as he made it, then as her mind was still struggling to process that information, she felt his lips, warm and slightly moist, against the flesh of her neck. She exhaled audibly herself.

"Are you awake?" he mumbled into her neck, sounding half-asleep but weighing the advantages of waking.

She froze, wishing again she could believe any of this made sense. As long as they had danced around each other, she hardly needed to go through all the motions of courtship, but she would have appreciated a bit of lead-up. Then again, perhaps he had fallen asleep on his side of the bed and unconsciously drifted to her side during the night, and as soon as he woke up fully he would be mortified to realize–

No, he was definitely quite intentionally kissing her neck now, working up to the area just below her ear that was so ticklish she jumped when he made contact with it – it had been so long she had almost forgotten how sensitive that spot was herself, but he seemed to know very well. "Yes, you're awake," he said, his voice a low rumble in her ear.

"Barnabas..." she whispered, unable to manage much more. He intended to stop her from talking anyhow, his lips traveling from her earlobe, to her cheek, lingering at her jaw, his teeth grazing the hard contour of her chin, his tongue trailing the same line just behind. 

She sighed into his embrace as his strong arms encircled her completely and drew her still closer to him. His lips found hers at last, still slowly probing, savoring her. She began to return the kiss, a little more insistently than he, but he slowed her deliberately. She felt as if he knew just how she liked to be touched – as if he had been doing it for a long time.

That thought brought her part-way back to reality: he had not been doing it for a long time; he had not done it ever. "Barnabas... wait, wait," she broke their kiss reluctantly, trying to put some distance between them but finding resistance in his arms. "We have to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" he purred into her ear, shifting his focus back to her neck. "Relax. I need you..."

Those words from his mouth made her shiver with desire, full of adoration and a need to match his own. "Barnabas..." she sighed again, his name escaping her lips somewhere halfway between protest and pleasure. 

This couldn't be a dream, she thought vaguely. Everything was too visceral; she was aware of every one of her senses, and her dreams were never that clear. Never, with the possible exception of those she had had under the influence of something supernatural – like the Dream Curse, for one... _Angelique._ That was it: she remembered. The last thing she remembered was talking to Angelique!

The thought went out of her mind again so easily as the immediacy of his attentions took over full control of her senses again. He maneuvered her onto her back, shifting his weight on top of her and finding her mouth again, this time exploring her more deeply. Again it occurred to her that he did not touch her with uncertain or inexperienced hands. He touched her as if perfectly secure in his right to, and with complete confidence in his knowledge of what brought her pleasure.

He laughed suddenly, as if he had only just realized she was still wearing her party dress. "Why do you have this on?" he teased her. And for the first time, she realized he was naked from the waist up – at least. Daring to feel about with her knee, she believed he might be altogether naked. Why on earth...? Did she care...?

She returned his kisses hungrily but flashes of her confrontation with Angelique kept intruding. Angelique would not have allowed this to happen – unless somehow it was part of her plan to make this happen. She had promised Julia a gift; was this what she meant? What kind of a trick was this? Feeling suddenly sick at the possibility that his passion could have been prompted by anything outside the two of them, she stopped and pushed back on his shoulders as hard as she could. "Wait, Barnabas," she breathed. "Give me a moment to sort this out."

Concerned, he pulled back, caressing her face gently. "What's wrong, Julia?"

She rolled over, reaching for the light on the nightstand. She fumbled around a bit, confused, before realizing there was no lamp there. In the darkness, her hand brushed and knocked over a candlestick. Shocked, she sat up in a flash, turning back to him. "Barnabas, we're back home!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.

"Back in our own time!"

He looked around, taking in their surroundings as she had, noticing the lack of modern conveniences. "No – Julia, we're still in their time – the candlesticks..."

The blood drained from her face as she stood, mortified, backing away from him and their bed. "Oh my god," she breathed. "You're him."

"What are you talking about? Julia?" He sat up, pausing only to grab his robe from the end of the bed before coming after her, reaching out for her.

She shook her head, covering her mouth where his lips had been. "I'm Julia, but I'm not your wife. This _is_ my own time. Somehow, I'm home, and you're still here."


	51. Chapter 51

Julia almost fell to the ground, jerking awake, as if she had fallen asleep standing up. She would have fallen, if someone had not caught her. She looked up, disoriented, and saw Jennifer staring down at her. 

"Julia? Are you all right?" Jennifer asked, her eyes wide in a convincing mix of terror and confusion.

"I – I don't know–" Regaining her balance, she wrenched herself away from Jennifer's grip. She looked around, getting her bearings. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep at the Old House, but somehow, she now found herself in her bedroom at Collinwood. But it was sparsely furnished compared to the bedroom she had been staying in, in this strange band of parallel time... and how did Jennifer get here? All at once it dawned on her: she was back in her own time, this was _her_ bedroom at Collinwood! 

"Julia, why do you look so happy all of a sudden?" Jennifer asked, looking perplexed.

"It's nothing," Julia said, quickly putting on a straight face. Noticing she was wearing only the thin slip she had fallen asleep in, she went to her closet to pull out her robe. 

"You almost fainted, you gave me a fright!"

Julia eyed her suspiciously. "What happened, just before I nearly fainted?"

"I don't know, I turned my back for a moment so you could change your dress, and then you made this terrible cry – I turned around and caught you just in time."

"What were you saying, just before I fainted? I'm afraid I missed it."

Jennifer squared her shoulders and gave her a defiant look. "Actually, Julia, I think we said all we need to say to each other."

Julia wanted to know how Jennifer had come to be in her room, what they had been discussing, but she didn't want to give her any hint of what truly happened – which evidently was that she had passed through some passage in time and switched places with another woman while Jennifer's back was turned. Jennifer didn't seem to think anything was amiss now, and she preferred to keep it that way. "All right," she said simply, watching her closely for some clue.

"If you're feeling better now, Julia, I think I had better go." 

Julia called after her, "Oh, Jennifer – do you happen to know where Barnabas is?"

Jennifer shrugged and gave a short, ugly sort of laugh, leaving the room without another word. 

As soon as she was gone, Julia hurried back to the closet, grabbed the first dress she saw, and threw it on. She had to find Barnabas, make sure he was all right, and that he knew they were back home before he said or did something that would confuse anyone. He must be wherever the other Barnabas had been at the moment they had switched places, she reasoned. And if that's the case, she thought with a smile, the other couple would be in for a surprise when they awoke entwined in bed.

"Julia?" Elizabeth had appeared in her doorway, knocking discreetly as she poked her head in.

"Oh, come in, Elizabeth," Julia said, masking her frustration at being delayed on her way to finding Barnabas. But at the same time, she was genuinely relieved and happy to know that this was her Elizabeth, that everything and everyone was back to normal at last.

When Elizabeth did come in, Julia saw she was wearing an elegant party dress. Confused for a moment, she realized there must have been a party at Collinwood that night, for their anniversary. That seemed to explain why she was changing her clothes, at least.

"Julia, I've sent all the guests home, you won't have to speak to anyone tonight," Elizabeth said gently. 

Baffled by this remark, Julia said what she thought she should: "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"And I want you to know, I have fired Jennifer. You won't have to see her here ever again."

This was also unexpected, but, Julia thought, perhaps it was what she had been discussing with Jennifer just before she returned; it would explain her hostile attitude. Had something happened at the party...? Again she tried to say what the situation seemed to require and no more; and incidentally, it was true. "I'm very glad to hear that."

"And I also wanted to tell you that if you and Amy wish to stay here tonight, I'll have Mrs Johnson make all the arrangements."

"Is Amy all right?" she asked, immediately fearing the worst.

"Yes, she's fine. I think she spoke to Barnabas, and he made her feel better about it, at least."

Her stomach lurched. If it wasn't Amy, then it had to do with Barnabas. She forced herself to set aside her fears – if he had done something stupid, something stupid that could get Jennifer fired and upset Amy, then it was the other Barnabas who had done it, before they came back. Still, she had to find her Barnabas now and make sure he understood what had happened before he spoke to anyone.

"Elizabeth, do you know where he is?" 

Elizabeth looked surprised. "I thought he came up here to look for you!"

"I need to see him again," Julia said.

"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen him since he left the drawing room to come after you."

"Thanks, Elizabeth," she said hastily, flashing her a quick smile before rushing out of the room without further explanation. She had to find him first; she could explain later, once they'd worked out a plan together. 

She hurried down the hall, but her search was brief. She found him the first place she looked for him. He had not even bothered to hide. There he was, in Amy's room, his back to the wall, pinned there by Jennifer. He was looking deeply, dreamily into her eyes. He did not even notice her enter.

"I can't believe you," Julia said with barely contained fury. "It's been ten minutes, and already, here you are with _her._ "

Jennifer stepped aside, flashing Julia a nasty sort of smile. Barnabas shook his head, confused and at a loss for words. "Julia, I didn't–"

"You promised me this was over. But the very first chance you got, you–" She couldn't finish the sentence, for fear of breaking down if she said it out loud.

He elbowed Jennifer aside when she tried to clutch at him, approaching Julia with his arms outstretched, a begging gesture. "Julia, it's not what it looks like–" 

"Get out," she growled. 

"No, Julia, please listen to me–"

"Amy and I are staying here tonight. I want you to go."

"We have to talk this through!" he exclaimed, desperate.

"We will talk if and when I can stand to look at your face again." Not waiting to hear another word, she turned and left.

Elizabeth was standing in the hall, at a tactful distance, a look of sympathy on her face. Julia appreciated it, but could not accept her comfort right now. She said, "Elizabeth, Amy and I will take up your offer to stay here tonight. Thank you."

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "Amy is in the drawing room with David." 

Julia nodded, only able to manage a grateful if pained smile, which Elizabeth understood and returned. Julia walked toward the stairs without another word. 

When she walked into the drawing room, she saw Amy and David sitting together, their heads bowed, talking quietly. It was a rare sight that underlined just how terrible the night must have been. She did not understand everything yet, but she gathered the other Barnabas had done a credible job of impersonating her husband indeed, throwing himself into the role where Jennifer was concerned. And her Barnabas, evidently, had stepped back into it without missing a beat.

David stood up awkwardly when he saw Julia enter, mumbling a "goodnight" because he did not know what else to say to her. Amy smiled faintly, cuddling up to Julia when Julia sat next to her, putting her arm around the girl's shoulders. Julia hugged her tightly, tears coming to her eyes again, now mostly brought on by happiness at seeing her after such a long separation. It was all she could do to act as if it had only been an hour.

"Are we going home now?" Amy asked.

"No, sweetheart," Julia responded gently. "You and I are going to spend the night here."

"Why? Daddy said we were going home."

Julia's tears began to fall the instant Amy called him 'Daddy.' When had that happened? she wondered, wounded to realize she had missed the first time Amy began to address them as her parents, a moment she had secretly hoped would come for a long time. She wiped the tears away with her free hand, which Amy did not see. 

Julia struggled to keep her emotions in check as she said, "I'm very tired, that's all. I'd rather just sleep here. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, I guess not." 

She could tell Amy was worried, and holding it in as usual. Julia wasn't sure she herself had the strength to discuss it now, anyhow. It was selfish of her, she thought, but she needed to put that conversation off until the morning. She merely sat with her, petting her hair, holding her close.

Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw movement in the foyer. She turned to look, careful not to disturb Amy. It was Barnabas, leaving. He caught her eye and began to walk toward her, but she shook her head and turned away, making it clear she had no intention of speaking to him again that night, nor would she let him speak to Amy. He hesitated, but gave up finally, and left. Jennifer soon followed him down the stairs and out the door, which Julia noted bitterly.

Once outside the Collinwood doors, Barnabas stopped again, overcome, his face in his hands. What had he done? He could barely remember it, but he did recall the last part, the part Julia had walked in on, that awful moment with Jennifer... He wanted to turn around and fight to make her understand, but she didn't want to talk to him, and he didn't know the magic words to make her listen. He didn't have even the beginning of an explanation for why this kept happening.

"Barnabas!" Breathless, Jennifer followed him out, clutching at his arm. "You have to take me with you."

"No," he said simply, coldly, wrenching himself away from her.

"I have nowhere else to go! You promised me, Barnabas."

"I never promised you anything," he said, drained of all energy to fight with her.

"You're free now, like you said you wanted to be! We can start our life together now, Barnabas!" She moved to stand in front of him, trying to back him against the door.

He sidestepped her, not wanting to even look at her. "That is not what I want. Understand that now, once and for all."

She became suddenly still, lowering her voice and smiling. "Oh, I think you'll change your mind."

"Never," he swore, stalking away from her, taking slim comfort in the knowledge that, though it was far from how he had hoped this day would end, the lonely bed he left for was far better than at least one alternative.


	52. Chapter 52

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

"How could this happen? How could you – she – have switched back, but not me?" Barnabas, in his panic, was halfway to her before it occurred to him to tie his robe at the waist. Fumbling, suddenly adding embarrassment to a litany of emotions coursing through them both, he turned halfway away from her to pull himself together.

Julia would have laughed if the situation weren't desperate. Averting her eyes, struggling to manage her own feelings, she said, "Why don't you get dressed and meet me downstairs, and I'll tell you everything I know."

"Do you want to change, too?" he asked, noticing the party dress she wore again, now in something of a disarray from his misplaced attentions. He walked over to the wardrobe, clarifying, somewhat sheepishly, "Julia – my wife, that is – brought a few of your things here."

"Yes, thanks. I'll take this to one of the guest rooms," she said, grabbing a dress at random without even looking at it. "I'll meet you in the drawing room."

Safely on the other side of the door, Julia exhaled deeply, closing her eyes and banging her head once, hard, against the wood surface. It had been a long, long day, she had been put through the emotional wringer, and now there was a new crisis to deal with – a new Barnabas to deal with. A new Barnabas she had very nearly made love to, just now. She groaned involuntarily at the thought of it, partly out of mortification, partly out of frustration. She needed to find a way to fight Angelique yet again, but here she was wondering what her leg had brushed and what she had nearly seen when he stood. She shook her head as if it could dislodge the thought from her mind. Wasn't she grateful, after all, for a new crisis to force her to think of something else?

\--------------------------

 

When Julia came down to the drawing room, she found Barnabas had prepared a pot of tea. He offered her a cup as she naturally took her chair by the fire, crossing her legs.

"You're so like my wife," he said in quiet astonishment as he observed her, then laughed at himself. "Of course, you are. But it's so strange to meet you this way. Tell me, please, how did you manage it? Will your Barnabas be able to follow you?"

"No. Unfortunately, he knew nothing about it. I'm afraid he's in trouble. And, Barnabas," – it seemed so strange to call him that – "your wife may be in great danger, too."

His eyes went slightly wide in response. "Why? What's going on?"

"I came to this time through the use of some kind of... ornament, a device, used against me by Angelique."

"Angelique!" he breathed. 

"Yes, and if your wife appeared in the very place I left, she may have walked right into a trap Angelique set."

He seemed to be amazed. "How did Angelique come to be in 1971?"

Julia sighed – the long version of the story could wait for the morning. "Barnabas, _Jennifer_ is Angelique."

"No," he said, shaking his head, unable to believe it. "That cannot be."

"Barnabas, the last thing I knew before I came back I was talking to her, she confessed everything to me," Julia protested, somewhat annoyed by how easy it was to fall into an argument with this Barnabas, too.

"There must be some mistake," he insisted. "She looks nothing like Angelique."

"She looks _exactly_ like Angelique–" Julia said, exasperated until a moment later she understood his confusion. "Barnabas, she had you under some kind of spell, I think."

He leaned over as if nauseous, his head propped up by both hands, resting on his knees. "I am such a fool."

"Why, Barnabas?" She was terrified to know the answer, but powerless to resist asking.

"If that's true–" he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

She went cold as she understood the meaning of his apparent anguish. She hadn't wanted to believe it. "Barnabas, were you really having an affair with Jennifer? With _Angelique_?"

"I don't know how it happened – I never wanted to – I never meant to –" He stumbled over his excuses uselessly.

"Where have I heard that before," she muttered to herself. "Listen, Barnabas, it's no concern of mine what you've done. Forgive my bluntness, but it's much too late, and there are so many more important things at play."

He sank back into his chair again, looking drained, demoralized. "All right. Go on."

"She is responsible for bringing us into your time, and you into ours. She's planned it for months, strung you along until the time was right."

"It doesn't make sense. Why change places for another Barnabas when she had me practically at her beck and call?"

"Your Angelique is dead. It's the Angelique of this time who is after the Barnabas she believes belongs to her – and I think she intends to keep him in your time. He's the one she's after. I'm sorry, but you were only a plaything." Julia regretted the word the instant she'd said it. "I'm sorry. I'm the one who said we should stick to the facts."

"Don't imagine I haven't heard much worse from my Julia," he said, accepting her apology with all the good humor he could muster. 

Julia smiled briefly in conciliation, but continued on tersely. "This device she used, it was created by the Quentin Collins who lived in the 1840s, Daniel Collins' son. He was obsessed by time. She can use it to manipulate near bands of parallel time." Julia stood, reasoning the situation out as she slowly paced the room. "Now, she must have taken the one from this time, if there was only one. But if we can find some mention of it, experiments, directions, anything in his personal papers, perhaps we can figure out how to recreate it..."

Barnabas shook his head miserably. "So my only hope of seeing my wife ever again lies in our ability to follow the instructions some half-mad cousin of mine wrote over one hundred years ago? Providing we can find them?"

"He kept volumes of notes – I've read through them, but not everything. I'm sure we'll find something. And he wasn't half-mad." She said it to reassure him, but his eyebrows went up as if wondering how she seemed to be so sure of that. She laughed lightly. "Yes, I knew him. My Barnabas and I, we've been all through time together. You don't know how peaceful your lives have been, by comparison."

"And to think," he said, a note of irony creeping back into his voice, "the only difference between us was that I had the good sense to fall in love with my Julia, and the good fortune that she loved me back."

Julia allowed the remark to sink in for a moment, her stomach lurching when, finally, it did. "Do you really think that's the only difference?"

"Of course," he said simply.

She asked, "The Elliot Stokes of your time, he's here with you, too, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"And he's told you of his theory of broken symmetry?"

"I imagine your Stokes and mine are very alike," he smiled, a bit ruefully.

"And you think–"

He sighed and looked at her levelly, as if preparing to tell her a story of his own. "In October of 1966, I set aside my childish fantasies, I stopped chasing after what was already gone and what I never could have, and I began to see what was right in front of me. I fell in love with my wife."

"And my Barnabas did not fall in love with me," she finished the thought for him slowly, turning away from him.

His voice was gentle as he tried to reassure her. "I don't believe he doesn't love you. From what I've seen here, I'd say he's spent the last several years running away from his feelings."

She threw up her arms in exasperation at what struck her as an obvious contradiction. "Then the break in time can't be as simple as that, can it? If that really were the difference, wouldn't it put things right if he did love me?"

He shrugged, undeterred. "Stokes doesn't agree with me. Julia doesn't, either, really – she thinks I'm being romantic. And I don't claim to understand the rules in this thing, but–"

"Forget it." She waved him away sadly, then turned away to pace the floor again, hugging her arms about herself. "Couldn't you have done something to restore the symmetry, if you're so sure?"

"How?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I couldn't go back and _not_ fall in love with my wife. It couldn't work in reverse, and even if it could, I wouldn't. If Jennifer – Angelique, if you're right – could not succeed in destroying our marriage, what could?"

His casual reference to his infidelity struck her. "How could you?" she asked, accusingly, shaking her head in disbelief. She felt an anger welling up inside her that she knew had nothing to do with this man. "How could she –"

"My wife has an infinite capacity for forgiveness," he said gently. "I suppose you do, too. You must."

Almost overcome by her emotions, she pulled herself together all at once, tugging decisively at the fabric of her skirt. "That's enough for one night, I think. There's a lot we have left to talk through. First thing in the morning, I'll pull Quentin's papers again, and see what I can find."

"Julia–" He reached out to her, recognizing her response and not wanting to let it go at that.

She shook him off, not able to suppress a little bitter laugh at the way things had ended up. "I guess I should go back to Collinwood, then."

"It's much too late. Stay here tonight, in one of the guest bedrooms," he urged. 

She sighed heavily, realizing she was too exhausted to go anywhere even if she wanted to. "Yes, all right."

\--------------------------

 

It was very late by the time Julia's head hit the pillow, willing sleep to come quickly before her thoughts had the chance to run away with her. She hoped for but little expected it; as usual, it was only her expectations that were met. She tossed and turned, finding no position that would permit her to forget she was alone, lonely; and he had slept next to her only hours before. She was worried about him, and about Amy and the other Julia and all the rest of them, but overwhelmingly her thoughts were focused on the empty place beside her in a strange bed, in her own time that did not feel like home. Nowhere could feel like home, now, without him.

They were all in real danger and tomorrow she would leap into action. But now in the dark quiet when she could do nothing all she could feel was heartsick. It was a useless thought, but she could not silence it: whatever happened, whether she could rescue him or whether she failed, there would be no further need for game playing, and they would never need share a bed again. She was seized with the clutching pain of loneliness until she could hardly breathe. That pain was not unfamiliar but it had dulled when spread out over the years, and she knew it would dull again in time. But for tonight she ached to have him with her. Just once more. Once more, and she wouldn't have tried so hard to ignore it; once more and she would have committed to memory the smell of him, the sound of him breathing in sleep, the comforting heaviness of a body next to hers, a little closer each night...

But that was her imagination. Running wild in ways she was embarrassed to admit even to herself. She had almost believed it. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she had almost believed he could love her. But this other Barnabas – a stranger in the bed she wished she belonged in – must be right. _That_ was the fundamental difference between the two men. One loved his Julia; the other never could. One Julia could attract him; but she...

She tormented herself for what felt like hours this way, driving herself mad with doubt. She was past reasoning with herself, and that was one thing she could not stand. Tomorrow, tomorrow she would act, calmly, capably, coldly if need be – tomorrow she would find a way to save him, yet again, only to receive a clumsy thank you, yet again. But it would be a relief to take definite action, and thanks enough just to have him back again. He was once close, very close, but she would settle just for having him closer than he was now.


	53. Chapter 53

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

Barnabas awoke to the harsh light of day streaming in through the bedroom window, its brightness in direct contrast to the mood he was dimly aware of – a mood that grew darker and darker as the memories of the night before came back to him. How could it have happened? They had spent a perfect day together, he had held her so close in his arms, he had come within a hair's breadth of telling her how he felt. It seemed unreal that it could have ended up so miserably. He ought to see Julia before him now, Julia bathed in this sunlight, this sunlight that was once the world to him but now meant nothing if he could not see her in it.

Another train of thought, darker than the last, broke into his mind almost violently, stealing him away from the misery he preferred. It came to him, gradually, at first more an insidious idea than a memory: when Jennifer came into Amy's room, before Julia entered, he had kissed her. So strange that he almost hadn't been fully aware of it last night, and this morning it was still a haze, but piece by piece the moments seemed to fit together and coalesce in his memory. At first he was struck with the absurdity of it – how could he have done it and not realized it; could he be that far in denial? How could it so gradually assert itself in his mind? But it soon solidified into cold hard fact he could not question any more than he could ignore.

At least Julia had not had to witness it. _Julia._ How could he ever make her understand now? He leapt from bed as his thoughts returned to her, shaking off the thought of Jennifer, his mind made up. He all but ran to the shower, and washed himself hastily, rehearsing what he would say. He would break down the doors of Collinwood to see her, if he had to, and he would tell her the truth this time. The whole truth. What had happened with Jennifer, but how little it meant to him, and how very much she herself meant to him. He had very little to offer her, but he would offer it all, with no preambles this time, and with no fear because there was no need of it. He had so little to lose now there was nothing left to fear.

Just as he had slipped on his shoes and started for the bedroom door, he heard a noise downstairs. "Julia?" he called, a flutter of nerves running through him. If she had come back on her own, perhaps he had something to lose after all.

He found her standing at the bottom of the stairs, an icy look on her face. It was too reminiscent of the last time he had hurt her – the last time he had hurt her enough to compel her to stay at Collinwood. He descended the stairs slowly, his practiced speech lost to him now. "Julia, thank god you've come back."

"I've left Amy at Collinwood to play with David and Hallie," she said matter-of-factly. She hung up her coat with deliberate attention, turning back to him with a steely gaze that brought that nervous flutter back to him again. "I was furious with you last night. But I've had a chance to think more clearly this morning. And it occurred to me what happened... simply didn't make sense."

"Oh, thank god," he repeated, coming toward her.

She looked up sharply, stopping him in his tracks at a safe distance. "So I came to hear your side of the story."

"Julia, I want to be honest with you. It doesn't make sense to me either, none of this does. But I must tell you everything, no matter the cost."

"Go on," she said.

"Last night, when Jennifer and I were alone–" He visibly gulped. There was no turning back now. "She did kiss me, Julia."

"I see." She nodded slowly, her expressionless face terrifying him more than any other reaction could have.

"I did not ask for it, I did not want it. I told her to leave me alone, once and for all. I know what it looks like, Julia, and I'm ashamed of myself. You can't know how very sorry I am." She looked away but did not move, as if stuck, unable to refuse or accept him. He reached out to touch her face gently, turning her toward him again. "Does that one mistake ruin everything else that passed between us yesterday? Yesterday was perfect, Julia, when it was just you and me. That is what I want."

She shook her head, unable to hide her own emotions brewing beneath the surface anymore. She was still angry, still hurt, but she did not pull away from him. Barely above a whisper, she said, "I can't understand you anymore."

"Then allow me to make myself clear." Lightly, he moved his hand to the back of her neck and drew her nearer. "I want _you_ , Julia. That's what I've been trying to say. I love you. Oh, I love you..."

He trailed off as he continued to lean nearer to her, his forehead against hers, his lips moving just above hers as he spoke. Then, as he gave up on words, his lips brushed hers slightly and rested there until, almost imperceptibly, he received her unspoken invitation to proceed. He kissed her more forcefully now, holding her close to him, his long-suppressed desire for her overriding that terrible voice in the back of his head that something, still, was _wrong_ here...

Before he could consider that thought and much to his surprise she was pounding his chest with balled fists, erupting in fury. "How could you? After all we've worked through? After all we've been to each other? Yesterday of all days! An hour after you made love to me!"

He stoically bore the brunt of her attacks as the very least punishment he was due – until that last accusation, which made his eyes go wide with shock.

Before he could get a word in she continued her tirade, shoving him, hard. "The very moment we returned!"

At this, it began to dawn on him, and he captured her wrists in each of his large hands, gently restraining her from her onslaught. "Returned? Do you mean–"

"Last night, when we returned–" she began sarcastically, but as she said the words out loud it became clear to her, too. "Oh my god."

He let her wrists go and took a step back, absently touching his lips, which he seemed to have developed a habit of misplacing. "You're the other Julia."

She let out a short, hard laugh, momentarily at a loss for words. "I don't know if that explains things, but in a way I'm glad."

"At least one of us is. Things have gotten much worse for me," he groaned. "How? When?"

"I have no idea how. When I saw you with Jennifer – that was the first time we... met, I guess. Oh, I should have known something was wrong! I should have believed he wouldn't have anything to do with her again."

He shook his head miserably. "I wouldn't have anything to do with her, either, but somehow it keeps happening. Where is my Julia? Do you know what happened?"

"I suppose she switched places with me, but I have no way of knowing. If she did..." Julia trailed off, remembering. "She would have found herself in bed with my husband."

They both colored slightly at this realization and did not allow their thoughts to wander further down that path.

Returning to the subject, Barnabas asked, "Don't you know anything, anything we could go on to understand how this happened, and repeat it? What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well, I told you." She looked at him significantly. "It was our anniversary, after all. I fell asleep in his arms, and the next thing I knew I was standing in my bedroom at Collinwood with Jennifer. I don't remember anything in between."

"This is a nightmare." He began to pace anxiously. "Julia is gone, and I haven't the first clue how to get back to her!"

"And you'd just worked up the courage to tell her how you feel, eh?" she teased him gently.

"I need to sit down," he said wearily, dragging himself to his chair by the fire. 

She followed, sitting opposite him, crossing her legs. "Barnabas, what happened last night? Things seemed to be in an uproar even before I walked in on you with Jennifer, but I couldn't get any information out of anyone without it seeming strange to be asking."

He shook his head at the memory of it – that, too, scarcely seemed real to him. "I was giving a speech – Elizabeth had thrown us – you, that is – an anniversary party. And I said Jennifer's name, instead of yours."

"Oh, Barnabas," she winced. "In front of everybody?"

"I am sorry if I've made things harder for the two of you," he snapped, "but people will forget it in time. I think it's the least of our concerns now."

"But I have to deal with what you've done. It's my life," she protested. "Our other concerns, I don't even know where to start."

"No. Neither do I."

They looked at each other helplessly. She let her eyes fall downward, toward his hands in his lap, and noticed it for the first time. "Where did you get the ring?"

"Oh," he smiled, slightly embarrassed, twisting it around his finger. "Well, I realized there would be questions, so I bought a set of gold bands that seemed to match your own."

She observed, "You two really went all the way in playing the part, didn't you?"

"It was an easy part to play, as it turned out. In the end, I wasn't playing. Perhaps I never was; I don't know. It took me a long time to understand." Turning suddenly grave, he added: "Perhaps it took too long."

"Don't think that way. You will get a chance to tell her how you feel. I promise you. Perhaps you just needed a practice run," she said with a smirk. "By the way, it was quite convincing. You even had me for a moment, and I was dead set on hating you. I think you're ready to tell her for real."

"I'm more than ready," he said, deadly earnest.

"Good. It's about time." She reached into her pocket and sighed, removing her wedding band and replacing it on her finger. "I guess I had better wear mine again, too. Yes, we've been very careful in your time, as well. We haven't been wearing them, except when we're alone together. Last night I refused to put it back on out of spite."

Her casual references to her husband's actions made Barnabas sick with worry and disgust. "Did he really–"

"Let's not talk about it," she cut him off, knowing the question on his mind before he uttered it.

"I simply can't believe it. I know how I feel, and I would _never_ –"

"Never is a long time," she interrupted him again, more gently this time. "You should know that better than anyone. Have you ever known love to last?"

He acknowledged the blow. She had certainly gathered something of his long string of romantic interests while in his band of time. "Only one's last love ever can."

"Perhaps not even then," she said with a sad sort of smile. Changing the subject, she asked, "Is there anything else I need to know about what's happened, here, since I've been away?"

Barnabas thought about it, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. We've tried to keep a low profile."

"What about Amy? I noticed she's calling us Mom and Dad now," she noted quietly.

"I'm sorry about that. We didn't encourage it, but we couldn't stop her."

"I know. It was just a surprise. I'm glad if she's finally starting to see us as family, and this as home," she said, although clearly it pained her to have missed that moment.

"Julia, if you don't mind my asking, what happened to Chris? I'm sure it's not news to you, she's been having terrible nightmares about him."

She leaned forward, speaking quietly as if someone might hear. "Barnabas, Chris is dead."

All blood drained from his face as he grappled with this statement. "What? How?"

"We don't know the whole story. It was shortly after he left Amy with us. Both he and Sabrina. We think he may have accidentally killed her, and then himself." She closed her eyes, shivering slightly at the thought of it.

Barnabas was full of sorrow to confront the fact that they had failed to protect him, knowing it was equally true in his own time. But he was more upset still knowing what it did to Amy. "In Amy's nightmares, she sees him dying over and over again."

"She doesn't know anything about it," Julia said quickly.

"Don't you think she has a right to know?"

"Of course, but she's not ready now. She's very fragile. I've been working with her. Trust me."

"And no one else knows either?" he asked, incredulous. "Quentin is about to go tearing off in search of him any day now–"

"We were afraid if everyone knew it would get back to Amy sooner or later," she explained, sounding slightly annoyed at having to defend her decisions to him. "We will tell everyone, when the time is right."

He nodded slowly, accepting this. He mused, "When we first came here, it seemed like everyone was so much happier in this time, happier exactly because you and your husband had followed a different path. But I suppose nothing is ever quite what it seems."

"No, it's not," she said, that note of sadness creeping into her voice again. "But I wouldn't exchange my life for your Julia's in spite of all that's happened. It's my life. I'm sure you and she feel the same way."

"Yes," he agreed without a moment's hesitation. "There was a time when I could have pretended, or accepted something less than real. But not anymore. I want my life back, for all the mess I've made of it, more than anything now."

"We will set things back the way they're meant to be," she assured him, whether or not she had good reason to be so certain. She stood suddenly, adding, "But in the meantime, I can't stand to do nothing."

"What do you propose we do?" He asked, on his feet as quickly as she, equally eager to be useful.

"Let's go see what Elliot has to say about all of this," she suggested – then a thought occurred to her. "I wonder if he'll be yours or mine?"


	54. Chapter 54

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

Julia awoke from what little sleep she finally fell into with a start, early. She got out of bed with an energy and purpose she had not felt in a while – so far was this from the sometimes wonderfully idle mornings she had begun to grow accustomed to in parallel time. She found Barnabas, this familiar but strange Barnabas, staring out the drawing room window with a look of unfocused anxiety she recognized well. He smiled when she entered the room, an instinctive smile at the sight of her face that gradually fell as he seemed to remember the situation and her identity. Not wanting to dwell on his feelings, knowing her own could too easily flare up and get the better of her, she suggested they go immediately to Collinwood. Obviously as eager for a useful distraction as she, he agreed readily.

"There are some papers and diaries written by that Quentin in the old west wing study," Julia said quietly as they entered the mansion, feeling strange about hanging her jacket on the coat hook that belonged to her after all this time. "I'm sure we'll find something in them."

She was not in fact sure, and he looked no more convinced as he nodded in response, but it was all they had to go on. 

"Julia, is that you?" She grimaced slightly but affected a smile as she turned to greet Elizabeth, approaching them from the drawing room. In a way she was relieved to see someone she recognized from her own time at last, but she had hoped they could make it to the west wing without running into anyone.

"Good morning, Elizabeth. How are you?"

"Fine – good morning, Barnabas," she added with just a hint of a smile. "You left in such a rush last night."

"Oh, well," Julia stumbled for a moment, casting a look at Barnabas, annoyed to find him looking faintly amused. "You know me. I'm always rushing."

"I was a bit worried something might be wrong, but if you were with Barnabas..." Elizabeth did not finish her thought, but the expression on her face suggested she had said all she needed to.

Julia changed the subject, skipping these teasing niceties. "We thought we might have a look around the west wing study this morning – for information on the Collins family history."

"Oh, yes. For the book you're writing," Elizabeth smiled knowingly, as if it were a euphemism. "I'll send up a search party if you get lost up there. Or sandwiches for lunch, at any rate, if you plan on researching all day." Her eyebrows arched almost imperceptibly at the word 'research.'

"You are most kind," Barnabas said with exaggerated graciousness, bowing slightly.

Julia, struggling to suppress her exasperation with both of them, tugged at his elbow. "Thank you, Elizabeth. Well, we'd better get to work."

Waiting until they were a safe distance away from Elizabeth, Julia hissed, "What was all that about?"

Barnabas looked genuinely surprised by her tone. "What do you mean?" 

"Elizabeth acted as if she thought we sneaking off every chance we got for a liaison."

"Is that new?" he asked, smirking.

"I would have expected you to try a bit harder to act like us for the benefit of the others," she snapped.

He was undaunted. "I would say we did an impressive job of doing just that, acting like two stubborn fools who could not see what was right in front of them."

Julia stopped in her tracks, turning to face him with a warning flash in her eyes.

He laughed lightly in response. "We made a careful analysis of the situation. Trust me, Elizabeth's suspicions about the two of you predate our arrival in this time."

Julia shook her head and continued on, not in a mood to be led into an argument. He smiled to himself, walking a few paces behind her until he could manage to erase it.

"Here," she said, arriving at the door to the old study, brushing aside cobwebs as she entered. She looked around for a likely place to start. "Divide and conquer?"

"Whatever you suggest."

She went to one of the bookshelves, pulling down a stack of books and loose papers, and handed them to Barnabas. "Start with these. I'll start on his personal diaries. We're looking for any mention of an object that could help someone to move through near bands of parallel time. It was like a small ornament, about this big" – she made a little circle with her hands – "gold, and seemed to glow with its own light somehow when she used it."

He nodded, but as he retreated to a dusty old chair, he asked with some skepticism, "Do you think we're likely to find some sort of clear directions we can follow?"

"I don't know," Julia sighed, taking a seat at the desk after brushing it off. "Before, we actually found blueprints for his staircase through time – not that we tried to build one."

"A staircase through time?" he asked, incredulous, eyebrows raised.

"You really have missed so many of the strange, supernatural events that seem almost commonplace in this time, haven't you?" Julia asked wonderingly.

He chuckled softly again. "I won't claim we haven't had our share of troubles, but yes, since Julia cured me, most of them have been comparatively mundane."

Julia shook her head, fascinated to think that one simple decision could change a life so fundamentally, not allowing her thoughts to linger on what exactly that decision was. She began to skim through the first volume of the diaries, turning several irrelevant pages before another thought occurred to her. "And Angelique never appeared in your time, before now?"

"No, thankfully. I did worry about it for a time, expected it. She put me under the same curse she must have put on your Barnabas: that all who love me should die. I feared she would come for Julia. But eventually I supposed she could not do so, that her powers were less than they seemed. In time, I almost forgot about it. It may prove to have been my gravest mistake."

“It's fascinating... The Angelique of this time must have brought the Angelique of yours to 1840 before she could ever travel to the present to bother you,” Julia mused, marveling at the paradox. Then she asked, "Did your Julia know about Angelique?"

"Yes, she knows the whole sordid story. But I'm afraid she would be just as clueless as I was, confronted with her. She has never seen a likeness of Angelique. Angelique and I never did get around to a wedding painting," he said with bitter irony.

"I've dealt with her before, and I long suspected Jennifer was Angelique. I told Barnabas my suspicions of course, but he never believed me – now, I see, because he was under some sort of spell. There were moments when he seemed to be completely powerless to resist her, and others when he was quite himself, but he could never even entertain the idea that she could be Angelique. So neither he nor your Julia will know what they're up against," she concluded, frustrated and worried about what would happen now that she wasn't there to serve as his voice of reason. 

"Julia..." Barnabas trailed off, looking out into space, trying to work something out in his mind. "Julia, last night, I remember telling you Jennifer looked nothing like Angelique."

"Yes, I know," she said, slightly annoyed.

"It's the strangest thing. When I think of her now, I can see her in my mind's eye, she looks exactly like Angelique. I can't believe I couldn't see it before now!"

"The spell must be wearing off," Julia looked over at him, excited now, until another terrible thought occurred to her. "It could be wearing off for you because it is tightening its hold on him. He's completely helpless."

"We'll figure this out before anything happens," Barnabas said, refocusing on the papers in his lap, shuffling through them and turning them over one by one as he dismissed them.

Julia turned back to the diaries, but she could not stop her mind from racing. After a while, she looked up again sharply. "Barnabas, what happened to you while you were under her spell, apart from not being able to name her as Angelique? Can you remember anything else?"

He stared off again at no point in particular, trying to remember. His mind was hazy; he shook his head as if trying to force the pieces to fall into place. "I don't know, it's hard to say..."

"Try to recall just one instance, when you were alone together. When you..." She tried to think of a way to say it delicately, but it made her so angry to think about it was difficult to be civil. Gritting her teeth, she put it this way: "Did Angelique ever come to see you alone when Julia was at Collinwood taking care of Amy, for example?"

"Yes, she always did. The last time, she..." He turned away from her, mortified. "I don't know if I can discuss this."

Julia rose, walking toward him, seized by an idea. "There's no reason to spare my feelings, but incidentally, I don't think I trust your version of events."

"What do you mean?" 

"And you shouldn't, either. Barnabas..." she rummaged through her bag, pulling out a jeweled medallion. "Barnabas, would you let me hypnotize you?"

He frowned slightly, evidently worried what she might discover. "Aren't we straying from the point?"

"I think this will be equally enlightening, if not more so, than Quentin's papers."

He seemed to realize it was for the best that she find out the whole truth. "Yes. All right."

Without preamble, she unfurled the medallion in front of his face, twirling it this way and that. "Look for the center of the light, Barnabas. Find the center. Do you see the center?"

"Yes... I think so..."

She continued in her soothing, droning voice, "Look deeper, Barnabas, deeper past the center..."

When she was satisfied that he was under, she replaced the medallion in her bag and pulled up a chair next to him.

"Barnabas, I want you to go back, back to the last time Jennifer came to see you alone," she instructed him. "Do you remember?"

Eyes closed, almost in a monotone, he responded, "Yes, I remember."

"Was it a pre-arranged meeting?"

"No. But I expected her. She always comes."

"Walk me through the night. Start when she knocks on the door." Julia crossed her legs and leaned back into the chair, studying his face closely as he spoke.

"I'm opening the door, and I see her. She's smiling."

"How do you feel?"

"I don't want to see her. I know what she's there for, and it frightens me."

"Why does it frighten you?"

"She's going to make me do things, think things, I don't want to."

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Julia tried a curveball. "Tell me again, what is the name of the woman at your door?"

"Angelique." 

Her eyebrows shot up, interested that he should realize this now. "Do you call her Angelique?"

He became slightly agitated as he went on, gripping the arms of the chair. "When I try, the name won't come out. It comes out 'Jennifer.' I feel like I'm speaking in tongues. She laughs at me. She's evil. She's insane."

"What happens next?" Julia prompted. 

"She walks into the drawing room, and I have to follow her. I think about leaving, but I can't."

"All right. You're in the drawing room. What then?"

"She sits in Julia's chair and it annoys me. She calls me childish, tells me I can force her to get up if I like. She's taunting me. I try to ignore her, but I feel myself moving toward her, putting my hands on her shoulders. I can't take my eyes from her."

"What does she do?"

"She wraps her legs around me, pulling me closer. She says I shouldn't fight her, that I can't fight what's between us any longer. I am fighting, but I fall to my knees in front of her. She leans forward; she's going to kiss me. She closes her eyes to be kissed, and I throw her away from me and get to my feet, putting as much distance between us as I can."

He was beginning to become emotional again. Julia spoke calmly, the tone of her voice serving to put him at ease despite the terrible words she spoke. "What is she doing to you when she stares at you?"

"She has control over me. But she cannot make me do that. I don't want her."

"What does she do then?"

"She's angry, she comes after me, clawing at me, insulting me. She says it isn't working because I'm the wrong Barnabas and she does not want me either. She says she'll have him soon. But for now she will ruin my life for rejecting her."

"Then what happens?"

"I try to resist but she gets me to look into her eyes again. I cannot look away. She says it would disgust her if I touched her, but that I will remember that I did, that I will remember making love to her on the floor and again in the bed I share with Julia, that I will remember telling her I love her, that I will remember my wife is a cold, forbidding woman, and that my life with her is unfulfilling and passionless, that I will crave a real woman like her, that I will beg her next time to come back to my bed."

Julia was shocked and sickened. Having heard enough to get the idea, she tried to move him along. "What did she do after she told you all this?"

"She's taking me upstairs. I cannot resist following her. She takes off her clothes and puts on one of my wife's nightgowns. She's undressing me. I cannot move. I want to strangle her but I cannot move. She gets into bed and I lie down beside her. She tells me when I wake I will remember making love to her, the way we used to in Martinique, but sadly for me I will not have had the pleasure I could have if I were smart enough to take what was offered to me. She says I will not be able to associate her with Martinique, that I will call her Jennifer but deep in my soul I will know her as Angelique."

"Did anything else happen when before you awoke?"

"No. The next moment, she snaps her fingers. I think I've just woken up, but I've been talking to her all this time. I'm furious, I order her to leave. She acts hurt now. I tell her to never come here again, that this will never happen again. She dresses and leaves. I can't believe what I've done. I can't believe I've done it again. I swore the last time it would never happen again."

"Barnabas, I'm going to bring you back now. You've told me all I need to know. When I snap my fingers, you will come back to the present, back to a room in the west wing of Collinwood." She snapped her fingers, and Barnabas jerked back to attention, rubbing his eyes.

After a moment, Barnabas realized his surroundings and remembered what happened. "Did it work? Did you learn anything useful?"

"You could say that," Julia said, caught halfway between grinning in triumph and feeling sick over what had been going on. "Barnabas, she's been hypnotizing you, too, in a way. This spell she has you under, she's been putting thoughts into your head."

He looked lost, trying to make sense of everything. "What sort of thoughts?"

"I'm almost positive that everything you remember doing with Jennifer – with Angelique – never happened, but was merely planted in your mind by her!"

"What?" He played his memories over in his head, trying to find fault with them. He stood, pacing the room, rubbing his face with both hands. "I'd give anything to believe that, but I know what I've done..."

"Barnabas, you've just told me everything, there's no way you could have lied under hypnosis. She tried to force you to love her, and when she failed she planted memories so that you'd believe you did. Oh, it was all so easy for her, too! She preyed on all of our weaknesses, so that we would believe her deception. Both you and my Barnabas, you're so quick to believe the worst of yourselves, so quick to loathe yourselves. And I can't speak for your wife, but I too easily believed he could fall for Jennifer, because I've watched him do it so many times before..."

"I never gave my Julia a reason to feel insecure before now," he said fiercely, wringing his hands. "She knows my past, but since we met there's been no one but her."

"And there still hasn't. Barnabas, you never touched Jennifer," she said emphatically.

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. She saw him let go of his self-hatred and mere desire to believe; saw him relent, acquit himself, and finally really believe. "Oh, thank god." He closed his eyes, letting out a cleansing sigh. "She forgave me somehow, but I never would have forgiven myself. We worked it out, we were going to stay together, but it never would have been the same between us. Thank god! I can get my life back – if only I can get home to her!"

"You will, Barnabas," Julia smiled, happy to see him so relieved.

"I'll kill Angelique if I ever get the chance," he snarled with a ferocity that almost alarmed her. Perhaps the beast never entirely left the man. "I should have known better. At other times, the thought of her made me sick. It never made any sense – I should have known."

"She is a very talented witch," she said, as both reassurance and caution. "She's fooled many of us over the years. And this Angelique has had more experience to hone her powers, I think, than yours." 

"The worst part of it is what it did to Julia. You're right: Angelique's tricks worked by taking advantage of our weaknesses. I saw how all of this affected my wife, made her doubt herself. And that's the last thing in the world she should doubt. After all these years, I'm more in love with, more attracted to her than ever."

"I noticed that last night," Julia couldn't help but remark with a smirk. Then she laughed, remembering: "Angelique even tried to plant the thought in your head that your wife was cold and passionless. She tried to tell me the same thing, too."

"Ha! She overestimates her powers if she thinks that one would stick. Nothing could be further from the truth."

As soon as he said it he seemed slightly embarrassed to have offered even this much detail about their love life, but in a strange way Julia took a bit of pride in his reaction. They were not the same person, no, but Julia did feel a sort of kinship with her counterpart, and his vehemence made her feel more personally affirmed in that aspect of her being than she had in years.

"Oh, if only I could get these disgusting images out of my head!" he exclaimed suddenly, clawing at his hair as if he could rip them out.

"I think they will fade in time, as her spell continues to lose its hold on you. My hypnosis probably only brought to light more quickly what would have revealed itself in time. I'm just afraid of what she could be doing to my Barnabas, now..." Julia took a few steps away from him, crossing her arms, her face now dark with worry.

"You do know what this means for you, too, then?" he called after her. "Your Barnabas isn't fooling around with her, either."

She smiled sadly. "No, I don't think he is. I feel terrible that I didn't believe him. He told me over and over that something was wrong, but I was too hurt, too angry, to listen. I can't help but feel I could have prevented all of this, somehow, if I had just listened to him and put it all together sooner, if I hadn't been so blinded by my feelings..."

He walked to her side, gently laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Julia, don't torment yourself. We've all been doing too much of that. Why do we always believe the worst of ourselves?"

"The terrible part is believing the worst of him." She shook her head, sadly unable to imagine acting differently, given what she knew at the time. "But it's different for me... You said you never gave your wife a reason to doubt you before now. I've watched him go chasing after one pretty girl after another. The whole time I've known him, he's always been infatuated with someone. I never believed he could care for me the way I cared for him."

"But those infatuations, you knew they were only that," he said softly. "It sounds just like when I was a young man. I too thought only of beauty, of youth, of frivolous girls who could entertain me for a while and whom I could forget as soon as I tired of them." 

He felt her resisting his reassurances, and qualified: "I say this speaking as a man whose past was evidently identical to his, and speaking as a man who has been living and observing his life for these past weeks. I honestly believe he was stuck in that mindset we shared as young men, that it calcified in him with all the years he spent as a vampire that I did not. That curse had a way of keeping us locked in our most base, darkest selves. But it wasn't me. And it's not him."

Julia sighed heavily. "I know it's not him. But it doesn't really change anything, where I'm concerned."

"Julia, I know I'm not an impartial observer, but I am a stranger here. I had to study the way things are, the way people behaved towards us, to get a good sense of things, just as I'm sure you did in my time. I looked very closely at this time and, although he has never confessed it to you, and perhaps he has never even confessed it to himself, I saw that his whole life nevertheless revolves around you."

She let out a choked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, because she knew he was right, because she had always known this, and yet it had been so futile all the same. 

He asked her gently, "You love him, don't you?" 

"Yes. I always have." She spoke without hesitation, as if it were the most basic fact she knew about herself.

"He loves you, too. It's just taking him longer to come around to it. Stokes has told me all about his theories of parallel time, and I understand it well enough, academically. But I absolutely cannot fathom any reality in which a Barnabas Collins could have had the chance to meet a Julia Hoffman and not fallen in love with her. The great tragedy is that most of us must have died one hundred years before most of you were born. But for the few of us who, though it came by unhappy circumstance, had this wonderful chance? Sooner or later, even at our most self-sabotaging and blind, we will come to our senses, and not let the chance go by."

She laughed, not bitterly this time. She thought he was kind, this Barnabas. Loving his Julia had certainly softened him. "All right, stop it before you make me fall in love with you."

He assured her, "He'll say these words to you, too, before long."

Julia threw her arms up as if she had no idea what to believe. "The truth is, in the last few days, I almost started to feel as if he could return my feelings. And yesterday... yesterday was perfect, until the end. He did make me feel, yes, as if he loved me. I did begin to believe it. But we were caught up in having to go through the motions of your anniversary, you see."

"Why are you still fighting yourself? Why don't you put your analytical powers – which, if you're anything like my wife, I know to be formidable – to good use?"

She flashed him a half-smile, amused again by his manner. Then she took a few steps away from him, collecting her thoughts. It was true enough, she had let her emotions get the better of her for much of the time since they found themselves in that band of parallel time. She had misread situations over and over as a result. Had she misread his attentions, then – or not? She mentally replayed their conversations over the past weeks, remembered his nervousness and his attentiveness, how much freer and happier he sometimes seemed with her, and how he had said more than once she was the only thing that seemed real to him. That did not amount to a confession of love, and they had shared these little moments over the years, and she knew it had never meant anything before. If it had meant something, he had never recognized it and so it came to the same thing. 

But lately, it was different again, it seemed so much more conscious on his part – that was what had made her uncomfortable at first, struck her as something new and strange and wonderful. She remembered the look on his face when she woke up and found him watching her yesterday morning – she could not have allowed herself to really see it then, but it was a look of adoration; he was staring at her, and he had nothing else on his mind. He had carefully engineered that whole day, wanting to be alone with her, touching her, flattering her, pouring his heart out to her. That difficult conversation about Woodard – it was as if he had been seeking one last confirmation, seeking permission even, before proceeding. And he did proceed, didn't he? He was so gentle and almost seductive, she felt his eyes on her most of the night, and when he danced with her there might not have been another soul in that room... She knew she could not have felt all that if she were alone in it. 

Angelique made him say the name Jennifer. But Barnabas had been so desperate to make her understand. He would not have been desperate, not like that, if he did not care. In the past, he might have been dismissive, even combative; at best he might have been defensive, but certainly he would never have been desperate for her to know his thoughts were not on another woman. She was too sore to listen at the time, but she heard as if for the first time now. She heard his words ringing in her ears when he tried to tell her: _*I know how I feel.*_

Like this other Barnabas moments before, it was hard for her to believe, but as soon as the bricks she had built up around her began to dislodge the whole wall of self-deception came crumbling down. Or at least, she promised herself, in the absence of all the information she would try choosing to believe the best of him for a change. At any rate – not the worst. She closed her eyes, resolving not to jump to any conclusions. It was for him to express how he felt. It was for her to get back to him, save him from danger, so that he could even have the chance.

She turned back to the Barnabas she was with and smiled, genuinely, nodding briefly in thanks. All she said was, "All right, then. Let's get back to work." She returned to the desk to continue paging through Quentin's journal. If he expected more than that from her, he would be disappointed. It was another man she needed to finish this conversation with.

Seeming to understand, Barnabas smiled to himself and followed her lead, sitting again and resuming his search through the stack before him with renewed energy, knowing himself to be vindicated.

They pored over the documents for what seemed like hours, finding nothing worthwhile, the task gradually sapping their renewed vigor and sense of purpose. Barnabas finished sorting through his books first, and stood, frustrated, replacing them on the shelf where Julia had pulled them from. "Is there anything else here that could be of use to us?"

"I don't think so, to be honest," Julia said without looking up. It was taking everything she had in her to keep her head propped up on one hand as she listlessly turned one page after another. "We combed those shelves thoroughly the last time we were looking for information." 

After a quick scan of the books on the shelves, Barnabas was inclined to agree. But, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, he began peering behind the volumes, touching every surface and tilting the books to look beneath, hoping to find something that had fallen loose or been tucked between them. Before long, his fingers brushed a slim tab of metal, protruding slightly from the base of one of the shelves. He slid it to one side, and a small door popped open, revealing a compartment that extended into the wall. "Julia!"

She rose instantly, the excitement in his voice telling her he had found something important. "What is it?"

He reached his hand in and withdrew a set of papers, rolled into a cylinder. "I found this behind a hidden door in the bookcase!"

"Let's look at it under the light," she said, motioning for him to spread the papers out over the surface of the desk.

What they saw was a set of laboratory experiments, instructions and illustrations. Barnabas read aloud: "'Time is no more than space, space along a plane, but just like the conception of space most people possess, there is naturally nearer time and farther time. Parallel bands of time are nearer, past and future of the same time are proportionately farther, and parallel bands of past and future time are farther still. Near bands of parallel time are so simple to reach almost anyone can do so, with the mere awareness and will.'"

"That sounds like exactly what we're looking for," Julia breathed, amazed that they had found it in such detail.

"Julia, is that the device Angelique used?" He pointed to the final figure in the schematic: a very simple, small shining orb.

"That's it!" Julia exclaimed. She picked up the sheet which seemed to contain the step-by-step instructions to create the object. Her face slowly fell as she read it. "Barnabas, I think we can do this, but it's going to take time."

"And he's listed a number of warnings... it cannot pinpoint another band of time exactly, it's very dangerous if there are significant physical differences between parallel individuals – even a mild abrasion not sustained in common could cause the individuals to become stuck between times or to suffer severe physical injury... He goes on," Barnabas said, dropping the page, not wanting to read any further.

"What? What else could happen?" Julia asked, grabbing for it. 

He sighed. "Death is possible. It would seem he gave this project up and went on to the next before perfecting it."

"Well, it's been used at least twice by Angelique and nothing has happened," Julia pointed out.

"Presumably, she's using the original made by Quentin. If we created one, it could be even less stable."

Julia gathered up the papers, attempting to put them back in their original order. "Well, it sounds like we need an expert opinion. I think we'd better show this to Elliot."

Barnabas nodded in agreement. Delaying only long enough to straighten the shelves and cover all traces of the subject they had been interested in, they rolled the papers up again and left in a hurry without being seen.


	55. Chapter 55

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

"Extraordinary," Elliot said, after Julia and Barnabas had finished their story. "I must admit, I'm at a loss to understand how this could have happened. Are you sure you aren't leaving anything out? I need to know every detail."

"That's all we know, Elliot," Barnabas said, slightly annoyed at the implication that they would keep anything from him, although he well knew he and his Julia often did.

"Then there must be something else going on that we don't know about," he mused.

"You don't think it could be as simple as time shifting back to the way it should be?" Julia suggested. "And perhaps you and Barnabas will return to your own time soon, too?"

"Spoken, if you don't mind my saying so, by someone who has had very little experience with time travel," Elliot said, a touch of condescension in his smile. "No, it's never as simple as that."

"Surely there must be something we can do," Barnabas said, frustrated that Stokes had no ready answer this time.

"Perhaps we would do better to think about the minutes and hours leading up to the switch," Elliot suggested. "It was a strange evening from the start."

"That strangeness started with you, causing Dave Woodard to become more suspicious," Barnabas reminded him bitterly.

"Oh, yes – I wanted to ask you more about that," Elliot said, rather smugly, far from being chagrined by Barnabas' rebuke.

"What do you mean, suspicious?" Julia asked anxiously, turning to Barnabas – she, unlike Elliot, knew what he had to be suspicious about. "You didn't mention that earlier!"

Elliot noticed her agitation with interest, too. "Why is it, in every band of time, whether it's you or a parallel version of yourselves, I feel that you two are keeping something from me?"

"You've said so before, Elliot. You begin to sound rather paranoid," Barnabas said, covering with a mild insult issued in his silkiest tone.

Elliot merely inclined his head in response, as if accepting it as a possibility. "At any rate, Woodard seemed to be onto something. Perhaps we ought to talk to him and see what he knows."

"I'm likely to run into him at the hospital," Julia interjected quickly, hoping to stop him from becoming any more involved with Woodard. "I could talk to him."

"Fine," Elliot agreed. "You know him best in this time – perhaps he'll open up to you. He seemed to be quite interested in your basement, and Barnabas' sister. I suppose he would ask you the same questions if he had the chance. He's quite persistent, when he wants to be."

"Yes, he can be," Julia smiled as if it were a joke between them, hoping he would leave it at that.

He did not. "Has Barnabas a sister?" 

"No," Julia said, casting a sideways glance at Barnabas as if to confirm he approved of her approach. "I think Dave is quite confused."

"Perhaps he is. The next strange thing that happened was Maggie," Elliot went on.

"That's hardly strange," Barnabas said dismissively. "Pregnant women do go into labor."

"Yes, they do. But I happened to be watching you as you spoke to her. She seemed to be quite upset, just before it happened," he said through slightly narrowed eyes.

"I don't know what you're getting at. She was in pain, but it took both of us a moment to understand what was going on."

"Why did you say 'Jennifer,' and not 'Julia'?" Elliot switched his line of questioning suddenly, as if hoping to catch Barnabas vulnerable. He turned to Julia before Barnabas could respond, asking her, "Did he tell you about that?"

"Yes," Julia frowned, "that's the only part of this I'm not hearing for the first time."

"It was merely a slip of the tongue," Barnabas said.

"Quite a strange one," Elliot judged. "What is Jennifer to you?"

Barnabas threw up his hands in exasperation. "What an absurd question! I've met her a handful of times since we've been here."

"What is Jennifer to your husband?" he turned the question on Julia. "Forgive my bluntness. If I'm picking up people's hints correctly, it would seem many have jumped to the conclusion that he has been having an affair with her."

"I think this conversation has outlasted its usefulness," Julia said, standing and beginning to gather up her purse. Barnabas rose, too, in an instinctive need to defend her.

"Forgive me," Elliot said, raising both hands in a gesture of contrition. "I don't mean to pry, nor am I interested in the salacious details. I simply find it curious that Jennifer should apparently have such a hold on both men. And she always seems to turn up at the most interesting moments. Do you think she, somehow, could be the key to this mystery?"

"Jennifer is a very bored, personally unambitious woman who takes pleasure in destroying the lives of others and nothing more," Julia said angrily. Then next moment, she laughed, shaking her head, embarrassed at her outburst. "Yes, you touched a nerve. Yes, she was having an affair with my husband, if you must know."

Elliot stood, too, closing the distance between them and taking her hands in his, patting them in a friendly gesture. "Julia, it was not my intention to hurt or distress you. I do get carried away from time to time – which you must know, if the other Elliot Stokes is anything like me."

"It's all right," Julia said, relaxing slightly and offering him a half-smile.

"But the truth is," Barnabas interjected, "you have no more idea what is going on here than either of us."

"I suppose not," he admitted. "It would seem you cannot always come running to me for the answers."

"I'm sorry if we seem to expect it, Elliot," Barnabas said. "It's only that you so often do have the answers. Well – we'd better be going. Perhaps we can find out something from another angle."

Julia nodded in agreement, and they began to walk toward the door. 

Elliot called after them, "You will let me know if I can be of any help?"

"Yes, of course," Barnabas responded before he disappeared through the front door.

Elliot watched them go, an amused sort of smile on his face now, saying aloud to himself, "Jennifer _is_ the key, and neither of you have a clue. You don't even remember Julia's suspicions that she is Angelique, do you, Barnabas? Well, I do..."

He wandered deeper into the house, back to his study, to begin working on another angle of his own.


	56. Chapter 56

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

"Extraordinary," Elliot said, after Julia and Barnabas had finished their story. "May I take a look at those instructions?"

"Of course," Julia said, handing the papers over to him. 

Elliot surveyed the papers for long moments, his expression of excited curiosity gradually fading into a deepening frown. Julia and Barnabas exchanged nervous glances.

"Well, what do you think?" Barnabas finally demanded, anxious to take action. "Do you think we can create this device and use it to go back to our own time?"

"Yes, I do believe we can fashion one – that's the easy part," Elliot said, looking up and removing his monocle. "Using it is another matter."

"Why? What's wrong?" Julia asked.

Elliot went off in a seemingly tangential direction, musing, "This Quentin Collins is a fascinating fellow. I would love to take the time to study his works – and presuming they exist in our time, too, I hope to do just that when we return. He is a scholar's dream. I would like to have known him."

"I did know him," Julia said. "I can tell you his experiments work."

Elliot merely raised his eyebrows at this, as if nothing would surprise him at this point. "When you knew him, was it readily apparent that he was quite mad?"

Julia's mouth opened slightly, shocked at this assessment of the man. "Of course he wasn't – in fact, you'd never guess that he was interested in the supernatural. He was a very kind man. Certainly he was not mad."

"He would have to be, to be so much more interested in the theory behind his experiments than he is in the welfare of those who would execute them," Elliot said gravely. "Did you read this closely before you came here?"

"We read the warnings – but it's already worked between our two bands of time on at least two occasions," Barnabas said.

"It's worked, yes, but remember that it has been used by what you have described as a cold-blooded witch who – particularly in your case, Julia – would not much have cared if it did go awry," Elliot said, an admonishing tone in his voice.

Julia persisted, "Couldn't you work out the kinks, if you studied it, Elliot?"

He sighed heavily. "Perhaps I could and perhaps I couldn't. It might take a great deal of time. We don't have much to spare." 

"It's all we have to go on, Elliot. I think we have to try," Julia said. Thinking about it for only a moment, she added, "I'm willing to take the risk, if you can use it on me to send me back to your time. I'll go back and fix things."

Barnabas shook his head adamantly. "You would put my Julia in just as much danger if you went. No, I will go. I'm sure the other Barnabas would agree it is the right course."

Elliot raised a hand to stop them both. "Before you two carry on arguing over who gets to be the brave one, let me remind you I cannot even be certain what will happen if we use this. Quentin Collins never controlled for this sort of situation, and he cautioned against it explicitly." He replaced his monocle, referring to the notes again. "This gets considerably more complicated, with multiple people in multiple times. We could all be transported, or some of us could, and I don't see any way to control it."

"Angelique did," Julia pointed out. "She intended to send only me, and succeeded."

"Angelique may know something we do not. I wish I had the time I would need to sort all this out."

"We all know the risks," Barnabas said. "It's the only chance we have, at this point. Elliot, in our time, this other Barnabas and my wife are in great danger, and neither know enough to fight it. And how could your counterpart help them? We can't hope to return home with your theory of broken symmetry now that we're all separated – and admit it, that was always a slim chance."

Elliot frowned again, not pleased to have his theory dismissed, but unable to argue against it. "Then what do you propose, Barnabas?"

"I propose we accept the risk and try. If we don't act, we'll be in even greater danger." Barnabas paused for Elliot to react, but he merely stroked his chin, thinking it over. Unable to wait for a measured response, Barnabas vowed, "If you do not want to accept the risk, Julia and I will carry on without you. Julia, do you agree?"

Julia nodded to Barnabas, then crossed her arms, looking at Elliot defiantly as she spoke. "Yes. I will do anything to get back to Barnabas."

Elliot sighed again, resigned. "There is someone I would like to get back to, myself."

Julia softened, looking at him sympathetically. "I gather you and Elizabeth had only recently started seeing each other, but she misses you, too, Elliot."

He appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable discussing it, but was unable to resist asking, "How is she? What – what has this other Elliot –"

"As you can probably imagine, there was no easy way for him to proceed," Julia said gently. "I'm afraid he's taken on a policy of avoidance."

"She'll be furious with me, if she has any regard left for me at all," Elliot said, unhappily, but allowing a small smile at the thought of the rare but unstoppable furies of hers that flared up when it was really called for. 

"All the more reason to act quickly, don't you agree?" Barnabas seized the opportunity to manipulate him, if that was what it took.

"All right," Elliot grumbled. "If you don't mind, you had better leave this to me. Let me work on this, and I should have a prototype ready within a few days."

"A few days? We may not have a few days," Barnabas protested.

"If you insist on proceeding, we will proceed, but I am going to take all the precautions I feel are necessary," Elliot said as if it were the last word.

"All right, but hurry," Barnabas insisted.

More amicably, Julia said, "Please let us know if we can do anything to help."

"Of course, I will." He rolled up the papers again, then stood, as if to cue them to leave. "I suppose I had better get to work."

"Thank you, Elliot," Julia said, holding his gaze for a moment to emphasize her gratitude. 

He frowned slightly in response, accepting it, but not happy about it. He left the room without another word, leaving them to see themselves out.

Julia and Barnabas left quietly, solemnly almost, nervous but prepared to accept what they must do. Only once they were outside did Julia remark wryly, "I guess he's not quite as used to these unfair requests from you and your wife as my Elliot is by now."

"I suppose there hasn't been the same need," Barnabas returned with a sly smile.

"How did you come to know Elliot, then, if not through the supernatural? Isn't that his main interest in your time, too?"

"Yes, he is also a professor, specializing in the theory and history of the occult. I don't think he has the same practical experience his counterpart has had. I met him through Dave Woodard – in my time, they're good friends. I think they met at the university, where Dave gives a lecture now and then."

"Oh," Julia said. She got into her car, a strange and uncomfortable sense of deja vu coming over her. She remembered the last time she had left Stokes' house and discussed Dave Woodard in the car with her Barnabas – she had collapsed in tears in his arms. She did not want a repeat of that event now.

Barnabas let her pull away from the house and drive on for a couple minutes before asking her what he was dying to know. "Julia... What happened to Dave Woodard, in this time?"

Julia's face went white. What could she say? She rattled off the official story: "He had a heart attack. It was very sudden."

"It must have been," he said gently. "We couldn't figure why his life would have played out so differently. He died so soon after our two times diverged – it seems so strange that his health would have been so drastically different, in that short span of time. It was only weeks."

Julia could feel her pulse begin to race as he spoke. She took great pains to keep her voice even. "Just one of those mysteries of time, I suppose."

Barnabas dropped his voice to speak as softly as he could, as if consciously trying to shield her from the harshness of the meaning behind them. "You know, of course, in my time he was becoming quite suspicious of me, as he must have been in yours. He was close to discovering my secret. I was terrified he would find out. Paranoid, even, and quite ready to do something terrible if he had not stopped pursuing me. But Julia managed to bring me to my senses."

 _*Which I failed to do,*_ she thought to herself bitterly. Aloud, she merely asked, "How?"

"Well, I – I was falling in love with her even then. And I trusted her. And I wanted to be the sort of man who could deserve her. She saved me with her love."

"She isn't the one who was different in your time. It was you. I loved my Barnabas, I could have saved him, if he'd only let me. If he'd only loved me back." It wounded her deeply to realize afresh what she knew very well: the love this parallel couple shared had spared them this grief. Why couldn't it have been the same for her and the man she loved?

But before he could respond, before she could allow her emotions to run away with her again, she asked him, "But what about Dave? Did he just back off?"

"Strangely enough, yes, he did. One day he and Burke Devlin were digging into my affairs, and the next... he seemed to simply let it go. We never understood why. But he did not back off, in this time, did he?" He looked at her for a long moment, slowly becoming more suspicious. 

He waited for her to respond, but she merely shook her head. 

He continued, "I thank god every day that Julia saved me in time. It reminds me of how fortunate I was, and how grateful I must be, every time I see him. I almost never see him without thinking, I might have killed him." 

"Barnabas, don't," Julia whispered, all she could manage to say.

"Did your Barnabas kill Dave Woodard?" he asked, so pointedly she felt as if she had been stabbed, though his voice remained gentle.

"You have to remember how different things were then," Julia defended him, panic creeping into her voice. "And Dave wouldn't back down; I tried to reason with him any way I could–" 

"He killed him. And you helped," he observed simply.

Julia gripped the steering wheel so hard she thought her fingers would snap. She stared straight ahead. "Yes."

"To protect yourself, or to protect him?"

Once she had admitted it, she felt strangely calm to discuss this frankly with someone else. She found, at any rate, she was out of tears. She said, matter-of-factly, "The truth is, if it were just a question of my own life, I would have rather died."

Barnabas looked out the window, not sure how to feel. Not disgust – he was too close to the same end. Grateful again, he supposed. "We wondered if that had been the case – my Julia and I. She wondered whether she could have done it. She thought not."

"I never thought I would, either. It's extraordinary, disturbing, even, the things I will do for that man."

"I suppose she would have, then," he said quietly.

"Does that make you feel differently about her?" Julia asked, some part of her wondering if after all their progress, the fact of her ability to kill for him – that she was nothing of the innocent he typically chased – could keep him from truly loving her after all. She looked to this Barnabas to put her fears to rest.

"No, not at all. It makes me feel – lucky, I suppose. That it never came to that, that we don't have that cloud hanging over us."

"What if you did have that cloud hanging over you? Would it destroy your love?"

He understood what she was getting at, and turned to look at her sympathetically. "No, I don't think so. Perhaps it would have brought us closer. Julia and I were tested in other ways – this may have been your test. We all have our dark sides. Perhaps it's liberating, after all, to be confronted with yours – and to know the extent of your devotion."

"Liberating is going a bit too far," Julia laughed bitterly, but took comfort in the memory of the conversation she and Barnabas had had in Bangor – she found strength in what seemed to her now had been a promise they had made to each other. His words came into her head again: _*I believe we're bound to each other. But not only by these horrors.*_

Pulling her car into the path that led to the Old House and cutting the engine, she closed her eyes briefly and breathed deeply. A smile crept over her features gradually, and with it came a sense of peace. Not even another Barnabas and Julia could fully understand the bond she shared with him. They could hurt one another, and they could heal one another. Perhaps it was perverse, but they were each other's only salvation. Their counterparts were fortunate not to have endured what they did, but she would not have changed a moment of her life with Barnabas for the world. She thought it again to herself, and did not recoil from it this time; she rejoiced in it. It was extraordinary the things she would do for that man.


	57. Chapter 57

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

"Well, that was a complete waste of our time," Barnabas grumbled as they returned to the Old House.

"You didn't have another angle in mind when you said that, did you?" she asked, equally frustrated.

He shook his head. "No. Not one."

"Well, let's think this through," she said rationally, walking into the drawing room.

"Would you care to sit in the garden?" he asked, changing course. "My Julia and I spent many lovely mornings out there since we came to this time. It always seemed to clear our heads."

"It's a bit of a mess," she said, almost apologetically.

"I know, but it's still nice." He smiled, his feeling of defeat dissipating with the memory of how he had learned to ease into the day slowly, sipping coffee, discussing anything and nothing at all. Their troubles were never far, but those mornings were peace itself, sitting next to her. He had started to understand it could be just like that, always.

She saw that it meant something to him and indulged him. They arranged themselves on the garden bench, naturally taking the same places he had with his Julia. After they sat, he noted with a small smile that they sat further apart than he remembered doing with her – even before he had realized his feelings, he had unconsciously needed to be close to her. It had been so for a long time. How could they both have failed to notice it?

He remarked, "Many days, Julia and I would wake up with no idea what angle to attack the problem from. It's funny, after a while, it didn't bother me. I enjoyed our lazy mornings together more than I knew."

She sighed and said, "It was kind of a vacation, wasn't it? That's how it was for my Barnabas and I. Now I wonder if that's all it was – if we were only avoiding our troubles."

Gently, he cautioned her, "It's not fair to revise the story on your own. I've done it too many times myself. Better to save those thoughts until he can come home to answer them."

"Believe me, I'd love to be able to stop them," she said wryly.

"You've either forgiven him or you haven't."

"I wish it were that simple." She looked off in the opposite direction, a sadness coming over her she did not wish him to see.

He looked at her quietly for a moment, then turned away. He did not want to press her any further. It was a painful subject, a terrible circumstance. He thought he could never do that to Julia, if he were ever fortunate enough to marry her. What power on earth could compel a man to stray from such a woman? Perhaps this other Barnabas had won her too easily, did not understand how rare and fragile what they shared was. He recognized that head-high posture of quiet perseverance this Julia adopted now and wanted to ask her why she forgave him such terrible things, why she stayed with him despite it all. He wanted to ask because he wondered the same of his Julia. But he recognized the question as unfair and cruel and left it hanging in the air.

He broke the silence finally, saying, "I have to apologize. We've been reading your letters."

"Oh?" She looked over at him with more bemusement than anger or embarrassment.

"We had hoped they would help us to understand the difference between this time and our own. But I never found anything."

"That's too bad. I wonder if that was the only reason you read them," she said gently, casting a meaningful glance his way.

He smiled, understanding her meaning. "Yes, I suppose I did have other reasons, even if they weren't clear to me at the time. I did want to understand how you and he could have fallen in love at that time. It seems rather obvious now, but I was trying to understand my own feelings, too."

"And did you at least gain any insight into that?"

"I'm not sure I did. At any rate – the letters weren't what made me fall in love with her, and neither was pretending to be married; I think she worries that's the case, and it simply isn't. If anything, the letters made it harder for me to understand. His words were so terrible, cruel, at times – I remember those thoughts and feelings, of course. But he put on paper far worse than I ever said out loud to her. It baffles me that you could have read those words, and still loved him."

"There were beautiful words, too; and there was a man asking for help, a good man, reaching out to me. Didn't you read those?"

He frowned; it was difficult for him to accept. "Yes, but even so... Why hold onto those hurtful ones? Is there any good in remembering that time?"

"Those letters were part of us. And they helped us work through the difficult times. You can't simply bury and ignore the way you felt, the way you were; you have to confront it." The change in her tone of voice told him even more than her words: it was clear that this, at least, she had made peace with. It gave him hope that she could make peace with her husband's other mistakes, in time; and it gave him hope that his Julia could make peace with all of his. 

He said, "I suppose we've started to talk about it, finally, but there's so much left unresolved."

"Just don't feel like you need to resolve everything before you tell her how you feel. Love can heal, as much as talk. More than, probably."

He nodded slowly, but his eyebrows were still knit in confusion. "That's another thing I couldn't make sense of, if you don't mind my prying. How could you have married so soon after that time? I can't imagine my Julia accepting me so soon, after all I'd done to her. It's taken us years to repair the damage I've done, and even now..."

"Why wait, when you're certain? He still had a lot to work through, and we still had a lot to work through together. Even setting aside Jennifer, and Amy for that matter, it was never easy for us. Some wounds he suffered when he was a vampire, he may never get over. But we knew how we felt. I wasn't about to wait until he 'made it up to me,' whatever that means. It wouldn't have worked if I'd held it over his head until he atoned for all his sins. And it's been easier together than it would have been apart."

He mulled over her words; it made sense. Yes, it would have been easier, if Julia had been more than a friend to him all along. Julia knew him, and accepted him, and loved him. He wished he hadn't fought it for so many years, and he wondered if he could have chosen differently. But as clear as his feelings were to him now, he still could not imagine he would have understood them at that time. Perhaps Julia could have, but he was so lost, then. Lost, but he might have found himself in her, as soon as he cared to open his eyes...

He wondered, then, if he might have come around sooner, or if she could have done something to make him see. He asked, "Do you mind if I ask you – there were some things that were not clear in the letters... How did you come to be together? Did he declare himself to you, or did you...?"

She smiled at the memory. "He did. I felt he would have to. He knew very well how I felt about him, anyhow. He used it against me often enough."

"Yes. So did I," Barnabas said, looking down at his hands, horrified by the memory of it.

"But he was changing slowly, I could sense it in his letters more than I could when we met in person. I suppose it was no big moment, in the end. One day, I was at the Old House, I had just given him his injection, just like any other night. But this time, after he'd rolled down his sleeve and put his jacket on again, he walked over to me, very slowly, very intently. For a moment, I hate to admit it, I thought he might strangle me; it was a similar intense look, his eyes were as dark, and his stride was as purposeful. But his expression was kind. I had just never seen it before. He put both his hands around my arms, and I'm afraid I flinched. But he was very gentle, and he waited until I relaxed, smiling at me the whole time. And then he said, simply, 'Julia, I love you.' And then he kissed me." As she told the story, a smile slowly crept over her face, until at the last she was positively beaming. The next moment she laughed lightly, remembering: "And then he shoved me away, overcome with bloodlust and afraid he'd bite me. One step forward, two steps back," she sighed, but not unhappily.

"Yes, I know the feeling," he said wryly, but he shared her smile. "I've lived so many years, not knowing what love is. Now that I do know, I'm terrified to think it's too late."

"It's not too late. Barnabas, one way or another, we'll find a way to get you back to your own time."

"It's not only that. I worry it might be too late for her to ever trust me, to really believe in my love for her. She's seen me take up one infatuation after another, then as easily forget all about it. Even, god help me, Angelique."

She was shocked. "Angelique?"

"From what I gather, you've been fortunate enough not to have to deal with Angelique. In my time, she has come after me time and time again."

"Barnabas did tell me about the curse – he always thought she would come for him, or that some harm would come to me. But nothing ever happened." She looked at him in disbelief. "Angelique was responsible for the death of so many people you cared about – but you loved her?"

He cringed at the memory of it. "I said I loved her. She seemed so changed – and she died in my arms. The words just came out; I was overcome with emotion, and guilt, and remorse. I said it, but I didn't mean it. I knew I didn't mean it within days – _hours._ That's what I mean when I say I didn't know what love was. But how can Julia ever trust that it's different when I say the words to her?"

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Perhaps you'll just have to trust _her._ She may have her doubts, too, but she'll know."

"I do trust her," he said earnestly. "With everything I am."

"Good," she said, with an air of finality, as if the matter were decided. She recrossed her legs, shifting into a more purposeful mood. "So this is what you meant by your lazy mornings – and after that, you'd get to work?"

"Generally," he said, his mind still inclined to drift to other, nicer thoughts. 

Julia, however, was ready to get back to business. "You might have warned me about Dave before we went to see Elliot. What exactly happened?"

"It's just as Elliot said: he started asking questions just as he did years ago." Barnabas thought about his words carefully, not wanting to go into incriminating detail. "He was close to finding out my secret before he died in my time. Was it the same, here?"

She regarded him warily now, as if equally reluctant to talk about the fate of the Woodard he knew. Somehow, she seemed to know. "Yes, but he let it go. He stopped asking questions, stopped his little investigation, even seemed to talk Burke out of his suspicions. We never knew why."

Barnabas was perplexed. "But you don't suppose he actually forgot?"

"It always seemed as if he had, strange as it was. We've all been friends since that time."

"Last night, he acted as if it was all coming back to him, as if he'd forgotten but was beginning to remember. You didn't hypnotize him?"

She shook her head. "No, I suggested it at one point, but it never came to that."

"I don't know what could have triggered his memory. I blamed Elliot, who has been asking a lot of questions himself. But I know there's more to it than that. Last night when I spoke to Vicky, she seemed to be starting to remember certain things – she acted as if she were afraid to be alone with me. And what Elliot said about Maggie – it's true, she was speaking to me right before she went into labor, and she became very upset. I thought she was on the verge of remembering, too."

Julia's eyes went wide with horror. "I did hypnotize Maggie – I suppose it could be wearing off. But Vicky, I don't think she ever knew–"

"With her, it was just a sense of fear, as if on some primal level she knew what I was." 

"And this all happened at the party last night?" she asked distractedly, staring off vaguely as she tried to fit the pieces together.

"Yes, one after the other."

Her head was swimming with theories. "Perhaps somehow the longer we stay in the wrong bands of time, it's distorting things for the people we know, bringing things to the surface that would otherwise stay buried."

"If that's true, I feel we're running out of time." He felt suddenly panicked, the thought of lovely lazy mornings the furthest thing from his mind now. 

"What else can we do? Do you think I should try to talk to Dave, as I said I would?"

"Yes – I think we should find out how much he knows. And Maggie, too."

"Let's go to the hospital. We'll kill two birds with one stone."

Resolved, they were on their feet and out the door in a flash.

\----------------------

 

"Let's stop by Maggie's room first," Julia suggested as she and Barnabas approached the main entrance to the hospital. "Then I'll say I'm only stopping by Dave's office because I happened to be here."

"All right," Barnabas agreed.

Outside Maggie's room, they found there was something of a line. Quentin and Vicky sat in the waiting area nearby, their heads drawn together in hushed conversation. Barnabas tensed at the prospect of an unplanned confrontation with Victoria, and wondered with a sense of dread what they were discussing.

They looked up when they heard Barnabas and Julia approach. Both smiled uncomfortably, and rose awkwardly to their feet to greet them. For an instant Barnabas was certain they were acting strangely because they were talking about his secret, but it quickly dawned on him their discomfort more likely had to do with the way the party had ended.

"It's so good to see you," Vicky said, although her cheerfulness sounded a bit forced.

"Yes, we weren't sure if–" Quentin began, then stopped abruptly when Vicky shot him a warning look. "Well, there I go sticking my foot in my mouth as usual."

"You weren't expecting to see us together, after last night," Julia supplied, keeping her cool even though she had the least to go on.

"Since you said it, yes," Quentin gave a sort of nervous laugh.

Somewhat relieved, Barnabas picked up, "Everything got a bit blown out of proportion in the heat of the moment. I wish there had been time to say something to the family and the guests before Elizabeth sent everyone home. We were both tired and not thinking clearly, that's all."

"Yes, if I'd been thinking clearly I would have simply slapped your face," Julia laughed, with enough of an edge to her voice to suggest she meant it.

"Well good, then. We're all friends again," Quentin said, clapping his hands once as if to put an end to the matter. Turning to Barnabas, he added, "Sorry if I roughed you up a bit last night."

"Not at all," Barnabas said in his most gracious manner.

"Now that we've cleared all that up, I guess you're really here to see the baby, not us!" Vicky exclaimed.

"Carolyn and Willie are in there with Maggie and Joe now – and little Joe Jr.," Quentin explained with a grin. "They're only letting a few in at a time, and we're next. No cutting."

"We're happy to wait," Julia smiled. "More than anything, we just wanted to see that Maggie and the baby are healthy and happy."

Quentin cleared his throat. "Listen, Julia, I'm glad we ran into each other. I wanted to tell you, I've been giving our conversation last night a good deal of thought."

"Oh?" Julia cast a sly look at Barnabas, who looked equally mystified.

"Yes, I took your words to heart, and I wanted you to know I haven't changed my mind, but I'm certain it's not because I'm afraid of making a commitment to Vicky. In fact, I've told her all about it, and I've asked her to come with me. And she agreed."

"Come with you? Where?" Barnabas asked, sensing it would be less suspicious for him to plead ignorance than Julia.

"Julia didn't tell you? Well, no, I suppose you had other things on your mind. I'm going to look for Chris and Sabrina. Starting the last place we heard from them, unless you have any better ideas. And you can't talk us out of it, so don't try. This is something we both want to do."

"Suddenly last night I felt like I wanted to get away," Vicky said with a faraway look. 

"She will be my conscience and my guide," Quentin beamed, giving her a peck on the cheek.

Julia and Barnabas exchanged troubled glances – he wondering if even subconsciously Vicky wanted to get away because of what had happened last night on the terrace with him; she knowing she had to tell Quentin the difficult truth about Chris at last.

"Quentin – about that..." Julia began.

"Nothing you say will talk me out of it this time," Quentin said matter-of-factly. "And it was really Vicky who pushed me to go, so don't think I'm twisting her arm."

"It's not that..." Julia trailed off, struggling to find the words, knowing this was not the place, but they were talking as if there might not be another time. Barnabas, meanwhile, was trying to avoid looking Vicky in the eye, who was now staring at him with a curiosity that unnerved him.

Before Julia could continue, the door to Maggie's room opened, and Carolyn and Willie came out arm in arm, laughing and waving goodbye over their shoulder. They waved hello when they saw Vicky and Quentin, who stood to greet them, but their smiles faltered when they noticed Barnabas and Julia sitting just behind them. 

"Hey, everyone," Willie said in greeting as they approached.

"It's another party!" Carolyn let out a laugh which she cut short when her eyes landed on Julia, regretting the remark.

"Well, it's another day, at any rate," Quentin said, trying to keep things light.

Willie, not ready to let it go at that, looked back and forth between Barnabas and Julia and asked, "So everything's all right, huh?"

"Everything is just fine, Willie," Julia said with a reassuring smile. 

"Maybe it wasn't for us to say, eh, Quentin?" Willie said nervously, in his manner of apology.

"I've already said I'm sorry!" Quentin laughed, clapping him on the back as if to buck him up. 

Carolyn, who had been hanging back a bit, unusually quiet, piped up to say, "I think the nurse is going to come in and insist Maggie get some rest soon. You should go see her now."

Vicky didn't hesitate, slipping her arm around Quentin's. "I guess we'll see you later," she said, her eyes flitting nervously across each of their faces but settling on none. Something seemed to have alarmed her.

"Can't keep a baby waiting," Quentin laughed again, oblivious to the change in Vicky's mood. "Bye all."

They all said their goodbyes, but Julia, momentarily speechless, just watched them go, conflicted about missing the chance to tell them the truth about Chris. She was mentally recalled back to their present company as the sight of Carolyn and Willie's strange choreography caught her eye – Willie making to sit down and chat for a while, while Carolyn tugged him backward with some force, not subtly.

"We'd love to stay," Carolyn said with an unconvincing half-smile, "but we have a ton of things to do this morning."

"Oh, yeah, so we do," Willie said, his smile one of embarrassment and confusion.

"Of course. Please, don't let us keep you," Barnabas said, his graciousness also perceptibly forced.

After they disappeared down the corridor, Barnabas sank into one of the waiting room chairs, propping his chin up on one hand.

"What's wrong?" Julia asked, sitting next to him, recognizing too well that look of quiet despair.

"Did you see the way they were looking at me?"

"Who?" Julia looked truly mystified.

"First Vicky, then Carolyn. It was just like last night."

She threw up her hands in a dismissive gesture. "Barnabas, if that was just like last night, then I'm convinced it was all in your head!"

He shook his head and insisted, "It was more obvious last night. But they were both nervous around me; they didn't want to be near me for long – as if they had a feeling I was dangerous."

"But you never did anything to Carolyn!" Julia protested, then reconsidered. "I should say my husband never did."

"I did," he said miserably. "But how can that be? It's as if they have a memory of _me,_ from _my_ time!"

"I still think our two bands of time are becoming confused, distorted – I think we need to tell Elliot about all of this."

"There's no way to tell him they're remembering things about me without telling him what those memories are." He shook his head, not willing to risk it. "Would you still want to tell him, if he were the Elliot of your time, and you had to live with the consequences?"

She thought twice about this, and did not have a ready answer. Before she could respond, one of the nurses came over to them, clearing her throat.

"Are you here to see Maggie Haskell?"

"Yes, that's right," Barnabas said.

"I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to come back later. She needs to rest now."

Julia cajoled her, "Oh, but couldn't we just pop our heads in for a moment? We just want to say hello and see that she's doing well. I know she'll want to see us."

"You're Barnabas and Julia Collins?" the nurse asked with a frown.

"Yes," Julia confirmed.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't even tell you this, but... she specifically mentioned she didn't want to see you." With an apologetic sideways smile, she turned and left without waiting to see the look of mingled shock and horror Barnabas and Julia exchanged. 

"Do you see? It wasn't all in my head!" Barnabas hissed.

"Perhaps we're overreacting," Julia offered, but her expression betrayed her knowledge that they were not.

"Maggie doesn't want to see me because she's remembered," Barnabas said darkly, still keeping his voice low. "She'll tell Joe, if she hasn't already – perhaps she did tell Carolyn, and _that's_ why she was acting so strangely – and she could be telling Vicky and Quentin now–"

"Barnabas, now you _are_ overreacting," Julia said, seizing his arm. "If Maggie remembered enough to tell the world, you wouldn't simply be getting nervous glances and the cold shoulder, you'd be getting handcuffs around your wrists."

He nodded, trying to turn off his irrational fears. "You're right. But clearly something is happening. Maggie could cause real trouble – even if Carolyn and Vicky's memories are not of your husband, I know we have the same past with Maggie."

"Yes. And if Dave really is asking questions..." she trailed off, thinking the situation through. "It is possible that the effects of my hypnosis are wearing off. But if that's all it is, Barnabas, I know it would be gradual, she couldn't possibly put it together all at once."

"Maybe that's not all it is," Barnabas said. "It's too strange, everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. Something else must be going on."

Julia frowned, not liking the sound of any possibility that occurred to her. "I still want to talk to Dave – but perhaps you'd better not stay."

"No," he agreed. "There are too many people I'm afraid of running into here."

"Where will you go?" she asked, concerned. 

"I'll call a cab and wait for you back at the Old House," he said. "To be honest, I'm afraid to run into anyone, anywhere at the moment."

She gave his arm another squeeze and shot him a reassuring glance before she took off in the direction of Dave's office. He stood and walked in the opposite direction, toward the front desk. He appreciated her attempts to buoy him, and was glad not to be in this alone; certainly she made a better partner than Stokes, at the moment. But as much as she looked like his Julia, sounded like her, acted like her, she was distinctly not his Julia. Though he was in no mood to laugh he saw the irony in how, for so many years, he could confuse one woman with another, women who were nothing alike, and pronounce it love. Now that he knew he loved Julia truly, he could be confronted with her exact duplicate and not be confused for a moment. She had touched his arm just as his Julia might have done, and it was a kind, friendly gesture; but it didn't simultaneously soothe and excite him the way his Julia's every touch did now. Had always done, perhaps. He needed her now, more than ever, and he knew it could never be anyone but her.


	58. Chapter 58

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

"I feel strange just giving Quentin's instructions over to Elliot to work on," Julia sighed as they returned to the Old House. "Now what do we do?"

Barnabas shrugged. "Now we wait, I guess."

"I can't stand waiting," she said. As if to underline the point, she began pacing the foyer impatiently.

"Waiting for what?" Willie sauntered in, wearing a sideways smile and wiping his hands on a dish towel. He added, as his smile grew into a smirk, "I hope I'm not home too soon."

"Of course not," Barnabas said curtly.

"I was just, ah, cleaning up the kitchen." Willie introduced a suggestive eyebrow wiggle into the conversation.

"Good. Thank you, Willie." Barnabas turned away from him, walking into the drawing room.

"Did you cook while I was out, Barnabas? You don't normally do that," Willie observed, following him, now adopting a look of mock puzzlement. "Of course, a lot of strange things have been going on here lately. Not strange in the usual way, either."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Barnabas scowled.

Julia trailed them into the room. She watched their exchange with thinly disguised bemusement, although she knew precisely what Willie was getting at and it shouldn't have amused her in the least – should it? Clearly the other Barnabas and Julia had been careless about covering their tracks again, and Willie had unraveled the mystery. 

Willie turned to her and asked, as if he had seen her for the first time, "How are you, Julia?"

"I'm fine, Willie," she said with a smile. 

"I'm glad to see Barnabas' cooking didn't make you sick."

" _Willie,_ " she scolded him halfheartedly.

He put up both his hands in an equally halfhearted apologetic gesture. "I just wanted you both to know, I understand you wanting to be alone and all, but I can make a real good romantic dinner and then make myself scarce afterward."

"Willie!" Julia exclaimed, somewhat more forcefully.

"Just wanted to mention it. Just in case it ever comes up," he winked. "Well, I got a lot of cleaning up to do, so I'll see you guys later."

Julia's eyes went just a little wide as she watched him go: he had never been quite so frank with them before. She wondered just how much cause their counterparts had given him.

Barnabas said sheepishly, "I intended to clean up myself so it wouldn't be so obvious, but in all the confusion..."

"It's all right." Julia waved it away, the least of her concerns. "I suppose we'll tell Willie the whole story sooner or later, and then it won't seem so strange to him."

"Oh, I don't think it really seems _strange_ to him," Barnabas said with a little laugh. 

She walked away from him, shaking her head. But with her back to him so he could not see, she allowed herself a private smile. She said, "If I don't want to make him more suspicious for now, I suppose I'd better do my waiting at Collinwood. There's nothing else for us to do now, anyhow."

"Won't the time go slower there?" Barnabas asked. 

"It's excruciating, regardless," she said, turning back to him, looking miserable. "All I can think about is how helpless he is, and what she could be doing to him."

"Then don't go to Collinwood. Stay here, we can keep each other company." He let out a long, cleansing breath, trying to calm his own nerves. "It's comforting to talk to you. If you go, all I'll think about is what danger she's in. If you stay, there's a chance only ninety percent of my attention will be devoted to that."

She smiled at him sadly. It was touching, how much he clearly loved her. "Oh, you're right. I can't take seeing anyone there, anyhow. I'd feel like I was lying to everyone, even though they're my own friends in my own time." She shook her head, looking off into space, reflecting, "We pretended so long to be together that being apart again feels like pretending. I don't think I want to sleep in my bed at Collinwood tonight. I'll stay in the guest room here again. Willie can think what he likes."

"I'm glad." Barnabas smiled, relieved not to have to pass his hours in that cold, empty house alone. But something that had niggled at him since he came to this time occurred to him. "It's none of my business, of course, but why doesn't your Barnabas let Willie go?"

She sighed, fraught over the matter herself. "He did leave for a while, and he began to lead his own life. We had to bring him back to help when Barnabas was cursed again. But now that he's human, yes, perhaps it is time he releases him once and for all."

"It would make him less of a nuisance in situations like last night," Barnabas pointed out.

Julia laughed in spite of herself, shaking her head. He was incorrigible. "Well, if that ever does become a common occurrence in this house, we won't have to sneak around."

He grinned back at her. "You might try sneaking around for a while. It was fun."

Her rejoinder died on her lips, the sound of the front door clattering open silencing her. She whirled around to see David rush in, breathless, as if he'd run the whole way from Collinwood.

He was not too exhausted to resist a wisecrack. "You really need to get a phone installed over here!" 

Julia and Barnabas exchanged a look of silent agreement.

Julia asked, "What is it, David?"

"There was a call for you, Julia," David said. "From Wyndcliffe."

The mention of Wyndcliffe, which had been so far from her mind, sent a flutter of nerves through her. "Why – what did they say?"

"They said it was urgent and you should come immediately. You asked to be notified if there was any change in the condition of Maggie Evans."

Julia's face went white. She tried to hide her alarm, asking as calmly as she could, "Did they say anything else?"

"No, that's all I know," David shrugged. "Aunt Elizabeth took the call and sent me over here."

Not hesitating a moment more, she strode back to the foyer and began gathering up her coat and purse. "Tell Elizabeth I'm on my way, if they should happen to call Collinwood again. Barnabas, I'd better go alone."

Trailing behind her, Barnabas frowned. He didn't like it, but knew it was for the best. "Will you call me later, and let me know what's happening? I'll wait for your call at Collinwood – eight o' clock?"

"Yes, all right," she agreed hastily. Then, seeing his evident distress, she walked back toward him, smiling supportively. David could still hear, but she couldn't mind about that now. "I'm sorry you're going to be alone tonight after all."

"It's all right. David will keep me company at Collinwood, won't you David?" He smiled at the boy, who was clearly worried. Turning back to Julia, he said quietly, "At least you still won't have to sleep in your bed at Collinwood."

They exchanged bittersweet smiles. Both understood the danger Maggie Evans posed, and both shared the longing to comfort and be comforted by another who looked so like the person they saw before them. They would be alone in their need and their fear that night, but at least they were not alone in their loneliness.

Their moment of sympathy was broken by an anxious David, who asked, "Is everything OK with Maggie, Julia?"

She turned to him, affecting a certainty she did not feel. "I'm sure it is. I just want to check up on her myself, since she's such a close friend of the family. Barnabas will let you all know when I call. Do you want me to drop you two off at Collinwood?"

"No, go," Barnabas said, knowing she preferred not to delay. "We'll walk together. I'd better let Willie know before we leave. You know how his imagination runs away with him."

"All right. I'll talk to you later." With one last flash of a smile over her shoulder, she left. 

Although she drove as fast as she dared, the ride seemed interminable to Julia. She wished she knew more about what was happening with Maggie – for better or worse, at least it would stop her mind from racing through the possibilities. She expected the worst, although it made no sense: Maggie must be remembering the memories she had blocked, just as she seemed to be in parallel time. Why was this happening now? She didn't have time to deal with Maggie now, she thought, desperately. And how would she deal with her? If it came to it, would she hypnotize her again? The thought made her sick. She had come so far from those days. 

She told herself over and over not to think that way; she would deal with it if and only if that proved to be the case. Anything could have happened to Maggie. It could be quite harmless: a fall, a needed revision to her medication schedule. It could even be a positive change. She had asked to be notified of _any_ change, she reminded herself. Just drive, drive, drive, she repeated like a mantra. Long stretches of road passed that she couldn't remember covering, she was so lost in thought. But even so there was so much road left ahead. She pressed the pedal harder. She would get there. She would find out. And then she would know what to do.


	59. Chapter 59

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

"Where to, Mr. Collins?" the cab driver asked, pulling away from the hospital.

"Collinwood estate, the Old House," Barnabas directed, barely glancing up. His mind was absorbed in other matters, and he didn't care to make small talk. As usual, he preferred to brood over what troubled him, rather than take his mind off of it.

Something terrible was happening, and he felt powerless to understand or to stop it. Many times in the past he had been so powerless, but it never distressed him so thoroughly as it did now. Before, at least, he had Julia by his side. He never knew how much she calmed him until she was gone. So many times when he went out seeking danger he had ordered her to stay behind, little appreciating his relief when, inevitably, she followed him right into harm's way. He did know she would always follow him. Wherever she was now, he knew, she was trying to get back to him. But where was she? He tried to have faith that, logically, she had returned to their own time and was, at least, safe. But things were becoming less and less logical all the time, and time itself began to seem distorted and unpredictable... He closed his eyes, blocking out the one thought he could not bear to fixate on. Of course she was home. She was safe. And they would find their way back to one another.

While his mental defenses were weakened, another thought entered his consciousness, unbidden. It came as more a feeling than a thought at first, the mere sense of something: something powerful pulling his mind in another direction. It felt vaguely pleasant; a dulling, soothing feeling. It did not occur to him to resist. It wrapped itself around and infused his mind like a fog. It was so easy to give into. So easy not to worry. But the feeling felt so far away; he wanted the feeling, wanted to be closer to it, wanted to have it, possess it...

Barnabas spoke again suddenly. "Driver, I've changed my mind."

"OK. Where are we going now?"

He thought about it; he could not name the final destination. He would know it when he saw it. "Turn left here."

The driver shrugged and complied. Barnabas continued to give him directions, turn by turn, until he found himself outside an isolated mansion that appeared to have been long-abandoned. The yard was overgrown, the front porch half-collapsed. He couldn't remember ever seeing it before.

"Are you sure this is where you want to go?" the driver asked skeptically.

Barnabas nodded. "Yes, I'm sure."

Absentmindedly, Barnabas paid the driver and walked to the front door, finding it partway open. He pushed it and it swung fully open with a loud creak. Inside, the house was dark. He made his way more by sense than sight, his feet falling surely around the debris in his path, taking the stairs and passageways with certainty. At the end of a long corridor, he saw a slit of light and heard the sound of a woman's voice coming from behind a door. He could not make out the words, but he knew she was calling to him.

He opened the door and entered. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was brightly lit and well-furnished, smelling of wild orchid. His eyes fell on the blonde woman at the opposite end of the room, her arms open to him, smiling. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a way that seemed familiar to him now.

"Jennifer? Why are you living here?"

The woman's smile deepened as she moved to stand before him. Her voice did not betray a trace of bitterness as she said, "They gave me very little time to secure better lodgings before forcing me out of Collinwood, my love. But I'm much more comfortable here. When we're here alone together, you may call me by my true name."

"Angelique," he breathed.

"That's right," she said, stroking his cheek gently. "You know me. You know me in your heart. That's where I live even when we're apart, isn't it?"

He shook his head in confusion; she placed one hand on either side of his face to force him to look at her, her eyes blazing. "Isn't that right?" She demanded again.

"Yes, Angelique," he monotoned, helpless.

"Good," she said, releasing him.

Slowly, he became aware of a muffled noise; it seemed far away at first, but gradually he understood it came from somewhere within the room. He looked around, but saw nothing. The sound became louder – it occurred to him it came from something living, a guttural sound – it was a man struggling to speak... or scream.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Do you hear that?" She seemed slightly surprised, but fascinated, that he could.

"Yes – what is it?" 

"But you can't see it?" She was playing with him.

He was becoming increasingly agitated. "No! Where?" 

"Why, it's right in front of you, Barnabas. You can see it if I allow you to. Would you like to see?"

Although terrified, he insisted, "Show me!"

With a wave of her hand, it was as if a cloud had passed from his view. A mere few feet away, in plain sight as she said, was Elliot Stokes, bound and gagged.

"Elliot! How–"

Her eyes flashed with rage. "Did you send him here?" 

"No, I didn't know–"

She softened, speaking calmly and sweetly again. "No, of course you didn't. You wouldn't have been able to if you tried, But you wouldn't have tried, would you?"

"No..." he whispered mindlessly.

She regarded him smugly. "I wanted you to see where defying me will get you. You will not remember this, but you will know."

"What will you do with him?" he asked, his eyes agape.

"Don't you worry about that. Perhaps it would be easier and kinder to simply kill him."

Barnabas snapped out of his haze again for a moment and yelled, "No!" 

"Why? He's no friend of yours, Barnabas. He's trying to get in the way of our happiness. He followed me here – he knows who I am. Now he must pay the price for meddling. As everyone who tries will. As Julia will, if she doesn't leave us in peace." She turned on him, gauging his reaction to this. "I'm surprised she didn't leave for good, when she saw us together last night. I thought, if she would simply leave, I could take care of her without harming her. I did try not to harm her. Now if anything should happen, you will know it's not my fault."

"You will not harm her!"

She raised her hand, sending a force of energy that knocked him to the ground. "What is she to you?"

"I–" But with another wave of her hand he found he could no longer speak. He could not stand or move a muscle from the neck down.

"Oh, Barnabas, my love, when will you learn to stop fighting me? You told me you love me. All you have to do is accept it." She moved toward him slowly, leering over him. Then, with one foot on either side of his legs, she slowly lowered herself into his lap. She rested her cheek against his, cooing into his ear, "I don't want to force you, Barnabas." 

Pulling back again, she looked deep into his eyes, boring straight through to his mind. Her lips did not move, but he could hear her voice in his head: _*But I will if I have to.*_

Out loud, she asked, "If I let you move, would you take me in your arms the way you used to, the way you've dreamed of ever since?"

He seemed to consider this, as much as he could consider anything at the moment. Then he nodded. 

She raised her hand again and he could feel he was able to move and speak again. He placed his hands on Angelique's shoulders, gently caressing her. She leaned in, closing her eyes, expecting to be kissed. Seizing a moment of weakness, he shoved her back as hard as he could and scrambled to his feet. He went to Elliot, trying to untie him quickly.

Angelique recovered, furious, and with another wave of her hand Elliot seemed to disappear again, though Barnabas could still hear his groans. 

"Don't you understand?" she shrieked. "I control what you perceive as real, Barnabas. Everything you see, hear, feel, think, remember. It's useless to fight me."

"Are you doing this to Maggie and Victoria, too?"

"How dare you!" Enraged, she slammed him against the wall with a force of energy he could not see. He slumped to the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

"Oh, Barnabas!" She ran to him, as if regretting what she had done, stroking him lovingly. "No, Barnabas, I didn't do anything to them. I didn't mean for all of that to happen, you must believe me. It's the way we've come to this time – I didn't know what that thing would do. It's twisting and warping everything – it will get worse the longer we stay here. But who cares, who cares about any of them? We don't need them. They can't hurt people like us! Or if you want, my love, we'll go back to our time, we'll go anywhere, whatever it takes to be together."

He groaned in pain, recovering his strength as she pleaded and became increasingly hysterical. He knew it was not a good strategy, but he had no other strategy that could beat her. He said, disgusted, "I don't want to go anywhere with you."

"You are mine, Barnabas! I didn't cause what's happening to your darling Maggie and Victoria, but I don't regret what's happened either! If I have to destroy everything and everyone else before you will come to me, you know I will. Why can't you ever make things easy on yourself?"

Though still weak, he sneered back at her, "You say I can't fight you, but I'm getting better at it, aren't I? I'm fighting you now, aren't I?"

She merely laughed at him. "How sad that you won't remember your little triumph. When you leave here, you won't remember fighting. You won't remember even wanting to. You will be glad you came. You will spend your days longing for the next time you can come. You will remember confessing your love to me, and you will remember making love to me. And when you come to your senses, you can come back here and have all of that for real. We'll start over. I don't hold a grudge."

"Let me go," he growled.

"Not yet. I haven't told you your punishment yet. The rest of it is simply your life now," she singsonged, grinning at him cruelly. "This is your punishment: you will see Amy go through another attack tonight. No – you will be too late to even see it and comfort her through it. It's happening right now."

"But it's not a full moon!" he yelled, desperate.

She laughed again, throwing her head back in mirth. "Do you really thing that matters? I make the rules." Turning coldly serious again, she said, "Look into my eyes now."

The next thing Barnabas knew, he was standing outside the house again. It seemed lovely to him; he did not notice the disrepair. A cab driver was waiting for him – the same driver. Unthinking, he walked toward the cab and seated himself again in the back.

"Where to, Mr. Collins?" the driver asked.

"Take me to the Old House now," he said quietly, some part of him feeling it was only a formality.

He could not remember how much time had passed or what he had been doing, at first; he was surprised to find it was sunset. Julia would be waiting for him. She would, perhaps, be angry. It did not concern him. Nothing concerned him, in fact. He felt good, happy, at peace – why? Then it came back to him, all at once. He smiled – and meeting the cab driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, he shared his smile. He would share it with the world if he could. He was in love, and he understood finally. He was in love with the woman he had loved all along. He was in love – he remembered: her eyes, the shape of her body, the smell of her. He was in love... with...

He frowned, his feeling of happiness slowly but steadily dissipating. He could not for the life of him remember her name.


	60. Chapter 60

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

It had been months since Julia had last visited Wyndcliffe, and she had not been there at all since Maggie was admitted for the second time, but she did not need to be reminded where her room was. She had arranged the whole thing at the time, and although Maggie's health was foremost on her mind, this thought was always present: if some memory should come back to her, Julia wanted her to be as far away from as many patients as possible. It was a long jog, then, from the front entrance to the last room at the end of the hall in the newer wing which extended from the back of the property.

As she rushed by them, she was too frantic to register the greetings and looks of surprise she received from her staff, many of whom she did not know by name. Still trying in vain to calm her nerves, Julia reminded herself that Maggie had been brought here after she had been attacked by another vampire, and whatever her mental state was it very likely had nothing to do with Barnabas. But suddenly it occurred to Julia that if they had succeeded in 1840, Roxanne could not have existed in their time to attack Maggie. The thought chilled her – had they failed after all? Or if they had succeeded, what had sent Maggie to Wyndcliffe in this altered time?

She slowed her pace for one person only, as she caught sight of and fell into step with Raul Vera, Maggie's attending physician, and the longest-serving, most-trusted member of Julia's staff. If she could expect anyone to exercise discretion about anything strange they might witness in Maggie's room, it was Raul. And understanding there was some personal urgency around the case that Julia did not care to discuss in detail, Raul began discussing the case without preamble or question.

"Miss Evans is under sedation now and resting comfortably," he said in a businesslike but gentle tone, as if he wished first of all to put her mind at ease. "I phoned for you in an excess of caution."

"I appreciate that. Even if it's nothing, I want to stay involved."

"I know," he said simply, no hint of judgment or suspicion in it. Arriving at Maggie's room, Raul held the door open for Julia, closing it silently behind them. 

Julia found Maggie unconscious, breathing normally, the expression on her face calm and untroubled. Out of habit, she checked her pulse first: normal now. She picked up Maggie's chart and flipped through it. "Flunitrazepam? That's strong – was it necessary?"

"I'm afraid so. She was quite hysterical. We couldn't get a sensible word out of her. She's never been like that since she came here last fall. I wasn't working with her then but from her case history, her behavior tonight sounds more similar to when she was first admitted in 1967. I thought you might have a better idea how to proceed with her."

Julia gazed at Maggie, worried both for her and for the domino effect of tragedy a return to 1967 could bring for so many people. She asked herself, not knowing the answer: would she know the right thing to do, if the worst happened?

Turning back to Raul, she said, "Well, there's nothing more to be done for now. Let's go to your office, and you can tell me everything."

With a silent nod, he led her back to his office, nearer to Maggie's room than Julia's own. It was more comfortable than Julia's office, too, showing character and personal expression in its decorating where hers was austere and unadorned. The few paintings that hung on her walls dated from when she had first bought the facility and carried no personal meaning for her. Smiling photographs of his family and friends covered his bookshelves and desk; his walls were decorated with an eclectic mix of traditional Chilean crafts and, making a strange contrast, impressionist paintings he admired. It gave one an immediate sense of his personality, and although it had never been her priority before, she thought if she ever returned to Wyndcliffe on a regular basis she might follow his lead. 

"I stole that from you," he winked, gesturing at the fish tank, the one possible conversation piece her office had ever held. "They were getting fed in your absence, but I'm afraid no one else cared to clean the tank."

"I'm glad you took it," she said, although somehow it seemed sad and final to see it here, as if no one still expected she might return. Casting aside the thought, she seated herself opposite him, all business again. "So tell me, how did it start with Maggie?"

"Well, as you know, she recovered from her physical wounds shortly after she came, and there have been no complications. But we've been unable to release her because she has been out of touch with reality, although generally she's quite calm, almost childlike."

So there had been physical wounds. But they still could not have been inflicted by Roxanne – Randall had destroyed her. She would have to look at the case notes in detail later, and see if she could piece it together.

Raul continued, "But today, for the first time, she was as I said quite hysterical, acting as if she were locked up in her room like a prisoner. When the nurse tried to take her for a walk outside, she began screaming that it was a trap and she was going to–" he put on his reading glasses and looked down at the nurse's report, wanting to get it exactly right. He quoted: "'kill her and take her to him.'"

Julia couldn't help but gasp audibly. "Who is 'he'? Did she say a name?"

"No, she was very confused. She stopped talking in complete sentences after that, and started reciting riddles or some sort of nursery rhyme. No, it was..." He looked down at the report again. Julia didn't need him to say it to know. "It was 'London Bridge.' She sang it over and over again, becoming more agitated. When the nurse tried to comfort her Miss Evans lashed out violently, kicking and scratching at her."

"Has she ever exhibited signs of violence before?"

"Never. The nurse called for help and she was given the sedative. And then we called you."

"After that dose she'll be out all night," Julia observed, irritated. She wanted to speak to Maggie as soon as possible.

"There weren't a lot of options. They had to hold her down," he said, frowning. "We may want to consider moving her to a more suitable room."

Julia knew what kind of room he had in mind – one with bars on the windows and restraints on the bed, in case it happened again. "No, I don't want to do that, if her fears already involve being locked up."

"It's for her own safety as well as that of your staff," he said, for the first time a note of judgment creeping into his voice. 

"I'll see her tomorrow morning and then decide," Julia snapped, annoyed to have her methods questioned in even the most benign of ways. Julia stood and walked to the window, which overlooked the gardens and grounds and the woods beyond. 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hoffman," he said, rising to stand next to her. "I know the patient is a friend of yours."

"It's all right." She turned to face him, flashing him a half-smile, explaining as she could not in words that she was frustrated with the situation, not with him. "Don't you think we've known each other long enough that you should start calling me Julia?"

"Julia it is." He smiled, his handsome but craggy face taking on a surprisingly boyish quality as he did. He noted, "You've changed a lot since you first went to Collinsport, you know."

"Yes, I know," she said simply, looking out into the woods again. He didn't know the half of it.

Breaking the moment, he walked back to his desk, speaking in bright but brusque tones again. "I assumed you would be staying overnight. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of asking Housekeeping to make sure your apartment was ready for you."

She was taken aback but relieved not to have to think about it. "That was awfully thoughtful of you. Thank you, Raul."

He smiled again, gathering up the nurse's report and the case history he had been studying, handing them over to Julia. "It'll take some getting used to after all these years, but I like being on a first-name basis with you. If you ever come back to us full-time, I have a feeling a lot of things might change."

Something in his manner surprised her, although he was the same gentle, considerate man he had always been. Perhaps it had never occurred to her before to think of him not only as a skilled and trusted doctor, but also a friend. But she said only, "You never know."

With a last look of gratitude, she turned and left his office. He watched her go, a smile lingering on his face.

 

\-----------------------

Julia unlocked the door to her spartan set of rooms on the top floor of the facility, behind the administrative offices and some distance away from the patients. It had been a very long time since she had used the space, but it had been kept up in the meantime. As Julia dropped the stack of papers on the coffee table and threw her coat and purse over one chair, she noticed evidence that someone had been up to make the place more comfortable, per Raul's instructions. There was fresh food in the refrigerator, and more importantly coffee and red wine. 

She uncorked the bottle and poured herself a glass, thinking it was a waste for only one person. She curled up on the couch in her small sitting area, pulling a blanket around her. This whole set of rooms was a waste if they were to go on being unused. They could easily be converted into more office or storage space. It probably bred resentment among the staff to know they were still up here, while she neglected them for months and years at a time. If she ever came back full-time, she knew there would be a lot of rebuilding to do. 

But her thoughts of Wyndcliffe, when she thought of it at all, were more on freeing herself of it – selling it, perhaps, or at least hiring someone else to run it officially. Perhaps Raul would consider the promotion, although she knew he enjoyed working with patients more than his administrative duties. But one way or another, she had gradually accepted the fact that what kept her from Wyndcliffe was no longer a series of temporary crises, but her life.

In the near future, she allowed herself the idle thought as the wine began slowly to go to her head, perhaps that life would become more cemented. If they succeeded in resolving this crisis, she might not need another to spring up to keep her in Collinsport. She might be asked to stay in a new official capacity of her own. And if asked, she wouldn't be as indecisive as she was where Wyndcliffe was concerned. If asked, she wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

She sighed: all of that was still far from certain, and there _was_ still this crisis to resolve. It was eight o'clock. She set down the glass of wine and reached for the telephone on the side table. She dialed, nervously playing with the fraying edges of the blanket as she waited for the connection.

It only rang once. "Julia?" Barnabas' frantic voice came over the line. She closed her eyes and smiled. That was the voice she longed to hear; if only it was the man.

"Yes, it's me, Barnabas," she said. "Maggie's all right, but they have her heavily sedated. I won't be able to speak to her until tomorrow morning."

"But nothing – unfortunate happened?" He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, as if others were gathered around him, equally eager to hear the news.

Julia told him all she knew, which she cautioned him wasn't very much. "I won't lie, Barnabas; I'm worried, both for her, and for what it could mean if her memory is returning. But I don't think any damage has been done yet."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. She pictured him nodding and smiling to the others to indicate a rosier outlook than could actually be expected. He asked, "Are _you_ all right?"

"I'm OK. I'm going to bury myself in months of case notes and medical charts now, and hopefully drift off to sleep before I run out." She eyed both the bottle of wine and the stack of papers which stood almost as tall, wondering which would outlast the other. "I'm not sure you have as good a distraction. Will you be all right?"

"I'll muddle through," he said lightheartedly. "Perhaps Willie will engage me in a game of whist."

She laughed. "I should be home tomorrow. With any luck, Elliot may have some news for us."

"I hope so, too. Goodnight, Julia. Let us know if anything changes."

"I will," she promised, although she knew he had said it mostly for the benefit of the others. "Goodnight."

She replaced the receiver and set the phone back down on the table. A feeling of loneliness crept up on her – her Barnabas seemed even that much further away now. But it was nonsense, she told herself: he was exactly as far away as he had been, and she would have to focus to bring him back – and to make sure this time would be safe for him when he did return.

She poured herself another glass of wine and picked up the first folder on the stack, as good a place as any to begin. She settled down into a more comfortable position on the couch. It would likely be a long night.

Reading over the reports prepared by the nurses and Raul, she found Maggie's condition had indeed been quite stable over the last several months. The reports documented much of what Raul had summarized: she was generally a happy patient, sociable, prone to childish regressions and unable to fully connect with her own reality in the present. Physically, she was fine, but she did not show much progress in psychological treatment.

Hours passed, and Julia wondered what she was really expecting to find. She wanted to find some clue to who or what had attacked Maggie given that they had altered time in 1840. But at the same time, she hoped no such details existed in the notes, lest it raise questions if anyone who might know what it meant ever went digging.

Raul had used many of the same techniques she herself would have chosen, including hypnosis, but it seemed he had not understood what had really happened. There was not even a conjecture about the supernatural in his notes. He did observe, as she had done in her "official" record in 1967, that Maggie still had long stretches of missing time, which he believed were repressed memories. On a regular basis, he had tried to chip away at those memories, but he documented no success. She bit her lip, finding relief but no pleasure in the knowledge that her tampering with Maggie's memory had been so successful and permanent, even standing up to Raul's treatments. All the same, she decided she would suggest he discontinue the approach going forward.

It was almost midnight before she came upon a report written in Raul's untidy scrawl that seemed to provide some real insight. After reading it through three times, Julia could not decide if she believed it was merely his understanding of events, or the truth. Either way, it chilled her to the bone. During one particularly lucid and recent session, Raul had managed to convince Maggie to walk through the night last fall she had been found in the woods with wounds in her neck. His notes read:

"Maggie Evans reported she left her bedroom to meet someone in the woods on the property. The date had been prearranged but she could not name the man she was meeting. She came holding a knife. She became quite agitated as she recounted this, unusual for her. After much prompting, she told me she was carrying the knife because she intended to kill him this time. But the man did not meet her as they had agreed. Distraught, she took the knife to her own neck, and inflicted the wounds. She collapsed after telling me this, as she had that night in the woods. She was revived in her room and had no memory of the session. In the hours since, she has been her usual high-energy self, talkative and eating normally at dinner."

Julia read over the notes again and could not be completely certain Maggie herself had explicitly said she was meeting a man that night, but it wasn't like Raul to jump to that conclusion. At any rate, it could very well have been someone other than Roxanne. It horrified her to think that even though Roxanne had been destroyed, nearly the same events had happened on the same night, sending Maggie to Wyndcliffe regardless. Was it not possible to really change events after all, if they were somehow meant to happen? And who was the man? Julia tried not to dwell on the thought that it might have been Barnabas, a vampire himself at that time – or at least a memory of him that continued to haunt Maggie, if she was really troubled enough to take a knife to her own neck.

Julia shuddered, laying the notes on her lap and closing her eyes to think the whole matter through. The session Raul had documented had occurred recently, while she and Barnabas were in parallel time, shortly before Maggie's counterpart there seemed to be starting to remember things. It was too much of a coincidence. Somehow the two things must be related, the time travel and the changes to so many people's memories. It seemed only to be happening to people who had been somehow Barnabas' victim. Was this all part of Angelique's plan? How could she have such a far-reaching effect on so many people, across the barriers of time? And if she was responsible, could they undo the damage if they defeated her, or was the die now cast?

Without intending to and little expecting it, sleep came and silenced her racing thoughts, her exhaustion catching up with her and the wine leaving her powerless to fight it. She slept fitfully, the papers on her lap cascading to the floor as she tossed and turned, shadowy images embodying all of her fears flitting across her mind in dreams she would forget by morning.


	61. Chapter 61

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

Barnabas returned to the Old House in a mental fog that was slow to lift. He stumbled a bit at the door and entered slowly, finding it suddenly difficult to maintain his balance. He felt a dull sense of unease and an equally dull sense of contentment, each formless and sourceless, waging a diffident battle in his mind. He was confused, disoriented, but somehow certain he did not want either to claim him totally. 

Peering into the drawing room, he saw it was empty. Where was she? He needed her. Who? Julia, Julia. He closed his eyes; through his haze, he took comfort in repeating the name over and over to himself. His Julia could not come if he called. But there was another – she could help him now... Stumbling again and leaning against the wall for support, he called out, "Julia?" His voice was hoarse and did not carry through the house. He took a breath and tried again. "Julia?"

Soon she appeared at the top of the stairs, and he breathed easily again, trying to stand upright and pull himself together. But when she appeared in front of him, he could see she had been crying. 

Yet there was a hard edge to her voice when she asked, "Where have you been? You said you'd come back here and wait."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was not quite sure. "There was something I had to do."

"What, Barnabas?"

"I – I had to see... her." Who? Why couldn't he say her name?

"Jennifer?" Julia supplied it, and found his reaction enough to confirm it. "Go to hell."

She walked away from him into the drawing room as if physically repulsed, hugging her arms about herself and shaking her head in disgust. He followed, but was unable to move as quickly as he intended. He still felt groggy and dizzy. He called after her, helpless, "Julia..."

Blinded by her rage, she taunted him, "Were you trying understand yourself, your feelings, like all those questions you asked me before? Were you wondering what it was that interested my husband so, had to find out for yourself? Or has this happened before?"

"No..." he protested weakly. Or had it?

"While you were out having a good time with her, Amy had another attack. She called out for you, even if you aren't really her _Daddy._ "

This seemed to bring him partway back to reality. "No – but it's not a full moon!"

"It doesn't seem to matter anymore. It's getting worse. It was worse than ever." Julia shook her head, tears springing to her eyes again. "I don't want to talk about this any further. I need to go be with her."

She started to stride out of the room again, brushing past him as she went, but that slight contact seemed to knock him completely off his balance. She noticed for the first time how strangely he was acting and turned back to look more closely at him. "Are you drunk, too?" she asked, but knew that couldn't be. "Or were you drugged?" She raised his face to force him to look at her, examining his pupils. Something wasn't right. "Barnabas, where _have_ you been since you left the hospital?"

He started to speak but could not. Alarmed, she put his arm around her shoulders to support him and led him over to the chair by the fire. "Don't move," she said, as if she could no longer be sure what he might do, hurrying to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

"Here, drink this. Do you have a headache?" Returning, she handed him the glass and two aspirin, which he accepted but struggled to take. 

He drank the whole glass before responding, able to make a wry joke now. "A headache is putting it mildly."

"Are you all right?" Her concern for his immediate health had overwhelmed her anger for the moment.

"I don't know – yes, more or less," he stammered. "I'm sorry. You should go to Amy."

"I gave her her medication. She's in no pain now. She'll sleep the night through," Julia assured him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. What happened to you? Did you really go to see Jennifer?"

Barnabas tried to clear his mind. Slowly, he began to feel more like himself. And slowly, his memories returned. Memories – he turned the concept over in his head, testing the images forming in his mind's eye, finding them suspect, but unable to identify the flaw. Every time he came closer to what seemed to be a hole in his memory, something rose up to fill it in, as if the story were being written on his brain there and then.

He grew tired of fighting. He said quietly, feeling a sense of ease and relief as he did so, "Yes, I went to see Jennifer."

"I don't believe it. Why?"

"She called me, and I came," he said in a monotone, as if it were as simple as that.

She pressed him, "Called you where, here?"

"No..." He thought about it; what he said did not make sense. The next moment the memory filled in the gap. Of course, she had called him on the phone here at the Old House. "Yes, she called me here."

"She's found a new place to live already, has she?"

"Yes. It's beautiful," he said, envisioning a lovely little cottage on a hill, surrounded by wild orchids. Wild orchids – that seemed strange... He dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Perhaps it wasn't orchids after all. Perhaps it was rosebushes.

She was regarding him now with a clinical detachment, studying his responses. "And while you were there, what did you do?"

"I don't think you want me to tell you."

"Yes, I do. Tell me everything."

He wasn't in a haze now; everything seemed perfectly clear. He could tell her everything. It was so simple. "We said we loved each other. And then we went to her bedroom."

"And then?" she prompted him.

He resisted again: "You don't want to know."

"I told you, I want to know every detail you remember. It's not personal to me. You're not my husband. Tell me what you did when you went into the bedroom."

He shrugged slightly; if she wanted to know every detail, he would tell her. He took a breath but words did not come out. There weren't any. His mind was unable to fill in those gaps. He tried to remember; he was stuck, his mind clouded again.

She smiled thinly, a triumph she was not sure she wanted. "You don't remember, do you? She must have drugged you; you're showing all the signs. That woman is insane."

"I don't know..." he trailed off.

"Barnabas, do you love her? Did you want to make love to her?"

He shook his head vehemently. That much he was certain of. "No. No." 

"She did something to you! Oh my god. Has she been doing this to my Barnabas all along?" Her stomach lurched at the thought. "She thinks you're him when you're together, doesn't she?"

"I don't know – I mean, yes, of course she does."

"Oh my god," she repeated. She had seen her Barnabas acting disoriented this way before – though never so severely. "I want to believe it for his sake, but I'll hate myself if it's true, for not believing in him, not helping him." She turned back to Barnabas, looking desperate. "Can't you remember, did she give you a drink or anything else?"

"I don't think so..." But he was barely listening to her. His thoughts were elsewhere, poking holes in his memories and now seeing them fail to fill over and over. He stood suddenly, grinning almost madly, looking out into the distance. "I don't know what she tried to do to me, but she went too far this time."

"What do you mean?" Julia went to stand in front of him, pulling at his sleeve to bring him back to reality. "What do you remember?"

"It's too implausible. I wouldn't have done it. I'm not that weak anymore. I was once, but no more." He looked down at her, not at all certain she could believe him. "It's almost as if she's putting thoughts into my head somehow..."

Finally something clicked and made sense to her. "Do you think she hypnotized you?"

"Something like that, perhaps," he considered, nodding slowly. "But it's wearing off. I have these images in my head, but I don't have the feelings that would make them believable. She couldn't quite get me to believe I really wanted her. She must have taken that for granted – that was her mistake."

"Stay away from her, Barnabas. Whatever she's doing, she's crazy." Then she sighed, pacing the floor and shaking her head. "I don't know what to believe now. Do you think she's been doing this to him all along?"

"She probably has," he said gently.

"Oh, I've been so wrong, not to believe in him, in us. I'd give anything to talk to him now." She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified; the next moment her hands were fists in the air. "And I'd give anything to have my hands around her throat!"

"Don't blame yourself, Julia," he said, gently taking her hands and lowering them to her sides, squeezing them once in a comforting gesture. "He confessed to you, didn't he? What else could you have thought?"

She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that what he said was true. As hard as it had been to forgive her husband, it might be even harder to forgive herself. "It's just so terrible. I don't know what to do about her, if it's true. But there are so many other things I need to worry about first – getting him home, taking care of Amy. And keeping you out of trouble. Are you all right now?"

"I feel fine now. Whatever happened, the effects seem to have worn off now, mostly. Can I go up to check on Amy?"

"Yes, of course," she said, then steadied her nerves with a deep breath. 

As they walked upstairs, Barnabas asked, "Was it just like the other times, apart from the fact that it's not a full moon tonight?"

"Yes, just like it, only more intense – which I didn't think was possible. She had just come home from Collinwood when it happened. I'm glad for that at least – I hate not being able to take care of her in her own room, but at the same time I never want to stop her from her regular routine on the days when I think it will happen. She never seems to remember much about it the next day, and I don't want her to start thinking there's anything to dread."

At the top of the stairs, Barnabas paused for a moment, listening. He raised one hand to stop her from talking. She looked at him questioningly, not hearing anything at all. He shook his head, unsure; he didn't hear anything either, exactly, he only had a sense of something... But he had learned to trust his instincts when they told him something was not quite normal. He motioned for her to wait there, smiling slightly to tell her he didn't think there was any danger. Then he moved quickly but silently to Amy's door, pushing it open with one fluid motion.

He gasped as he saw a little girl with long, flowing black hair perched on the end of Amy's bed, bathed in a faint, otherworldly glow. She was watching over the sleeping girl, neither moving nor speaking. She looked up and smiled when Barnabas entered. He knew she would be there, somehow he knew this time she would wait for him. And she did not leave when, moments later, Julia appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Oh, Sarah," he called out to her, afraid to come any nearer. "Sarah, please don't go away again."

"You didn't need to sneak up on me, Barnabas," she laughed. "I knew you were coming. If I needed to leave I would have!"

"Sarah, I've longed to see you," he said, the desperation plain in his voice. "Julia and I have thought we sensed your presence before, but you've always left. Why?"

"I can't stay as long as I want, Barnabas," she explained almost apologetically. "I try to save my strength for her."

"You've been protecting Amy?"

Her response was cryptic. "I can't stop what happens to her. I try to give her my strength to get through it."

"What happens to her, Sarah? Do you know?"

"I can't speak of it. I wish I could." She continued to give him regretful half-answers.

"Oh, Sarah, please try."

"I can't, I'm sorry. Neither can she," Sarah said, looking back at Amy. "I know you're not my brother. And I know why your sister won't come to see you."

"She thought I was a bad man," Barnabas said, pained, looking down at his hands. "I have tried to be good. I have tried, so hard, to deserve her love again. But I'm afraid it is impossible."

"Perhaps you need to love before you can be good. My brother became good when he fell in love with Julia."

"I love Julia, too, Sarah," he said, almost pleading with her. "I love her with all my heart. I've tried to be a good man for her, too."

"That's why I came back for my brother. Love made him a good man. I was able to help him once, because he learned to love." Something in her voice told him that was all she was going to say to him about it.

"Would you help me now, if you could?"

"I have to go now, Barnabas. Amy will be all right."

"Wait, just one minute, Sarah–" He tried to run toward her, but she was gone, disappeared into thin air. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the spot where she had just been, a familiar aching feeling settling into his chest.

"Are you all right?" Julia asked softly, appearing at his side.

"I'm glad she watches over Amy," he said, managing a small smile. He sat on the far end of the bed, patting the girl's leg over the covers.

Julia sat, too, at the head of the bed, stroking Amy's hair lightly. "She looks more peaceful, since Sarah came."

"Does Sarah appear often? Did you know she was watching over Amy?"

"No – it's been a very long time. I think she's at peace now, and it's harder for her to come around. I guess what Amy's been going through has brought her back."

He nodded slowly, wondering if his sister would be at peace if she believed he was good. "Do you know what she meant, when she said she helped Barnabas before?"

Julia frowned, confused. "No, I have no idea."

"Strange," Barnabas mused, thinking over the letters again and everything he had learned here, trying to find some clue and coming up empty. He watched Amy for long moments, wishing there were something more he could do for her. "Julia, have you ever wondered whether there's more to Amy's nightmares and these attacks than her fears about Chris?"

She looked up, concerned. "Like what?"

"I don't know – only I have a feeling it's connected to all the strange things that have been happening. You know, at one point, it occurred to my Julia to read Amy's diary, to find out more about what was going on here. We read your letters, it's true, but her diary felt like crossing a line. But perhaps you could read it."

Julia looked back to Amy, clearly wrestling with crossing that line herself. But if it meant her safety and protection... "She was so close to Jennifer, it worries me now. Maybe I'd better."

He nodded, standing. "Is there anything else I can do – for you, or for her?"

"No, but thank you. You should get some rest."

"I'll take one of the guest rooms if you'd like your bedroom back," he offered.

"No, that's all right – I think I'll stay here with Amy. I know it's not practical, but I can't stand to leave her tonight."

He gave her a long look, as if inclined to argue with her, but knowing there was no point in it. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me."

"Thank you, Barnabas," she said, looking genuinely grateful. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he said, smiling back, then turned, resigned to spend another night alone in a bed that by now seemed much too big for one.


	62. Chapter 62

**_Julia in Real Time_ **

"Can you hear my voice?" Julia intoned, her voice emotionless by design, to avoid coloring her patient's responses or provoking an emotional reaction. "Can you hear my voice?"

Maggie Evans stared straight ahead, past Julia, past the light Julia passed in front of her eyes. Finally, as if hearing her for the first time, and faintly at that, Maggie nodded slowly, a look of confusion in her otherwise blank stare.

Julia did not show it, but she was deeply disturbed to find herself sitting opposite Maggie this way again. When Maggie was sent to Wyndcliffe for the second time, although she was weak and disoriented, she had not been nearly so dissociated from reality as she was now. At first, Julia held out some hope that it was merely the lingering effects of the strong sedative she had been given the day before. But gradually it became clear to her that Maggie's condition was as serious as it had been when she first met her in 1967 – and most troubling of all, she showed the exact same symptoms.

It was as if no time had passed – or, perhaps more accurately, as if the past were repeating itself. Julia heard herself going through the same routine questions and tests, and saw Maggie repeat the same responses, as if nothing had changed. But a great deal had changed. For Julia, at least, it had. But, Julia wondered, was Maggie somehow doomed to repeat that awful fate – and was it somehow her own doing? She and Barnabas may have averted a larger-scale tragedy in 1840, and they may have only been trying to get home in parallel time, but they had done much to alter the course of time. That could not come without its consequences.

"Do you know who I am?" Julia asked.

Maggie's look of confusion deepened for a moment, then relaxed into a knowing smile. She said with a little laugh, "Julia!"

"That's right, good," Julia urged her on. "Do you know what my profession is?"

Maggie nodded, encouraged that she remembered. "Yes, you're writing a book. About the Collins family!"

Alarmed, Julia hesitated for a moment, watching Maggie closely. 

Maggie's mood darkened and her eyes lowered. "I could have told you to stay away from the Collins family."

"What makes you say that, Maggie?" Julia looked at her warily but kept her voice even. Maggie still would not focus on anything in particular, least of all her face.

"They're cursed, every one of them," Maggie whispered, her eyes shifting this way and that, as if she expected a sneak attack. Then she gave a little laugh again, singsonging, "Each in his own way!"

Julia tried another tack to get to the heart of what she wanted to know while shifting the subject away from the Collins family. "Maggie, what year is it?" 

"It's 1971," Maggie said, then asked, with a quaver in her voice, "isn't it?"

"Yes, Maggie. Very good. It is 1971." So she knew time had passed. But the events of 1967 seemed closer to her. "Maggie, do you know that I'm your doctor, too?"

"Oh," Maggie said simply, seeming to accept this at face value. "Am I sick?"

"You were, Maggie," Julia said brightly, to suggest were nothing to be concerned about. "Do you remember being sick?"

"When?" 

"Think Maggie," Julia turned the question back on her. "When do you remember being sick last?"

Maggie closed her eyes, as if it required a great deal of effort. She made a low-pitched humming sound as she thought back.

"Do you remember being sick recently?" Julia prompted her again.

Suddenly Maggie sat straight up and her eyes flew open. "How could I have forgotten? I had to miss the trip to the zoo, and I cried and cried."

"When was that, Maggie?" 

"Last fall, I had the chicken pox."

Julia rubbed her chin thoughtfully, studying the young woman. Maggie's memory seemed to be all over the place; she knew what year it was, but she had no sense of what events were associated with past and present. This dissociation was troubling enough in itself, but she knew Maggie had not yet said anything outside of her conscious memory. As much as she dreaded it, Julia knew she had to see if the memories she had suppressed were just as accessible. It had been an effective approach with her in the past.

"Maggie, I'm going to mention a series of names, and I want you to tell me what you think of when you hear those names, all right? It can be an emotion, or a memory, or anything else that comes to mind. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Maggie said, nodding and smiling as if it were an exciting new game.

"David Collins."

"David... Collins..." She shook her head, the name not seeming to mean anything to her. Julia was about to try another when it finally clicked for her, and Maggie lunged forward, reaching out and clutching at the air. "David! David is in danger! I need to protect him!"

"It's all right, Maggie, David is safe at home," Julia said, gently pushing Maggie back into her seat and coaxing her arms back to her sides. She had thought David would be a safe name to begin with. But her mind was a landmine; there might not be any safe names. 

When Maggie had calmed down sufficiently, Julia tried again. "What do you think of when I say Carolyn Stoddard?"

"She doesn't deserve him," Maggie spat instantly.

"Who doesn't she deserve?" Julia encouraged her to go further. 

"I– I don't know..." Maggie stammered, her eyes going blank again.

"That's all right, Maggie," Julia said soothingly. She took a deep breath herself. She didn't know if either she or Maggie were ready for this, but she had to go ahead. Trying again to keep all trace of emotion out of her voice, she said, "Barnabas Collins."

"No!" Maggie yelled, rising to her feet in one swift movement, her hands in fists at her sides. "No!"

Even having braced herself for it, Julia was surprised by the violence and immediacy of Maggie's reaction. Julia rose, too, holding Maggie by both shoulders and trying again to bring her back to a sitting position. "Shh, Maggie, it's all right..."

Maggie struggled against her, shielding her face with one hand and pushing back an Julia with the other. "No! I promise I'll be good, don't, don't put me in there again!"

"Maggie, no one is putting you anywhere. Maggie, it's Julia Hoffman, it's just you and me, no one else."

Maggie continued to fight, clawing at Julia, screaming, "I'm Josette! I'm Josette! You don't need to punish me, I know I'm Josette!"

"Maggie, no one is going to punish you," Julia said, trying to keep her voice soothing while struggling to restrain her.

"I'm not Maggie! Don't try to trick me! I'm Josette!" Maggie cried, desperate tears now rolling down her cheeks.

"Everything is all right. No one is going to trick you. You are very safe here with me."

Maggie no longer heard anything she said, staring at a space just over Julia's shoulder, her eyes going wide as if she saw an attacker coming for her. "NO! NO! DON'T PUT ME IN THE COFFIN!"

Maggie drooped in Julia's arms, then, lifeless. Julia reacted just quickly enough to stop her from crashing to the floor, cushioning her fall. She slowly guided her to the floor, grabbing a pillow from the chair and placing it under Maggie's head. 

"Maggie? Maggie?" Julia slapped her cheek twice lightly, trying to revive her. She was completely unconscious. Julia checked her pulse and found it both fast and weak. She ran to the phone on her desk and barked, "Send two orderlies and a gurney immediately."

Returning to Maggie's side, she waited the interminable seconds until help came. She monitored her pulse; slowly, it began to return to normal, but Maggie remained unconscious. "Oh, Maggie," she whispered, shaking her head sadly. "I don't know what to do for you."

When the orderlies rushed in, Julia was all business again, helping them to lift her onto the gurney and directing them to take her back to her room. She followed behind them, walking at a brisk pace. When they returned to Maggie's room, the nurse on duty followed them in. Julia allowed her to make Maggie comfortable and take her vital signs; then, assured that her condition was stable, she asked the nurse to leave until she called for her.

Julia collapsed in the chair next to Maggie's bed with a sigh. Clearly, Maggie remembered much of the previously missing time. She could remember under treatment; it did not even require hypnosis now. Before long the memories would resurface at random, unprompted. She would be able to speak of what was done to her and by whom, at least as well as she had in Julia's office. And then all hell would break loose.

Julia was sure the change in Maggie had something to do with what was happening in parallel time, but she was not as sure that the damage could be undone. Unless the events themselves could be reversed, they were still there in her mind, suppressed perhaps, but never erased. If changing time again could not bring her to forget, there were other ways. Julia had done it before. But could she do it again?

She rested her chin on her hand, thinking through the options available to her. None were attractive. She was not the same person who had hypnotized Maggie years ago. She had acted out of fear and self-defense then, yes, but she had also done so without remorse; she had found it easier to do what must be done and act without a second thought. Even so, it was not just a rationalization to say it was the best thing she could have done for Maggie, at the time: if she had not, Maggie would have lost more than her memory. She would have lost her life. But she could not use that reasoning to justify her actions now.

If the risk were hers to bear alone, Julia knew she would take it, risk losing her medical license and perhaps risk jail. But the greater risk was Barnabas', and though some part of her knew he was guilty of the wrong he had done, another knew he was not that man. It wouldn't matter in the eyes of the law. But how could she help it? It mattered in her eyes, the eyes of the woman who loved him.

She felt trapped, stuck in time. But time would move on and decide for her, if she did not take direct action. She must, at least, control her fate. Their fate. _*Maybe it's time we faced the music,*_ she thought. But tears rose up, and she clenched her eyes shut to hold them back: they were so close to real happiness; why now?

The horrible thought occurred to her again that it might not be possible to change things that were meant to happen. Or for that matter, things that were meant not to happen. Perhaps she and Barnabas were simply not meant to happen. The wrongs they had committed would keep them apart.

The Barnabas and Julia of parallel time had committed some of the same sins, and yet they had built a life together. Where, exactly, had she and her Barnabas gone wrong? Elliot's theory of broken symmetry seemed so useless to them after all, and it reduced time, space, choices, relationships to mere mathematics. Surely it made for a fascinating college lecture, but in reality it seemed preposterous to imagine two bands of time, absolutely identical until broken by following two divergent courses, both equally probable. Let alone to imagine those involved could be set back in their correct place in time by duplicating that event.

She remembered Angelique's taunts that the circumstances of that event, which she claimed to know, were so impossible they would never be repeated. Still, Angelique acknowledged that the theory would work. But even if Julia knew what that choice was, that moment, that event, would she want to follow the course charted by another? Would it have spared them all this? would it save them now? There was no use in wondering; she was no closer to understanding what that choice was than she had been in the beginning.

Breaking into her thoughts, the nurse knocked and poked her head in. "Dr. Hoffman?"

"I asked you to wait until I sent for you," Julia said, irritated.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hoffman, but there's a telephone call for you. He said it was urgent."

At this, Julia looked up expectantly. "Who is it?"

"He said his name was Elliot Stokes. I asked him for more information, but he wouldn't–"

Julia was on her feet and to the door before she could finish her sentence. "I'll take the call at the nurse's station," she said, half-running out the door and down the hall. 

She picked up the phone and pressed the lit-up extension. "Elliot?"

"Good morning, Julia," his bright voice came across the line. This time, she appreciated the smugness she detected in it. "I have good news for you."

"Yes?" Julia prompted him impatiently. 

"It's ready. As ready as it's going to be."

"What does that mean?" She twisted the phone cord around her fingers nervously. They did not need any more complications now.

"I'll tell you when we arrive. We're on our way."

"Hurry," she said tersely. "I'll be ready."

She replaced the receiver, and knew the nurse had overheard most of the conversation. She had said little on her end, but knew she must have appeared upset. She couldn't worry about that now; suddenly she found she couldn't care about anything going on in Wyndcliffe, or indeed in this time. One crisis at a time, that was all she was prepared to deal with. She had to put this one on hold. It was only delaying the inevitable, but it could be delayed. As much as it sickened her to do it.

"Nurse," she said, embarrassed to realize she did not know the woman's name. Gail – she noticed the nametag too late. She let it go; rebuilding her relationships with her staff could certainly wait.

"Yes, Dr. Hoffman?" Gail responded, completely masking her annoyance at being treated like a nobody, if she felt it.

"I want you to keep Miss Evans comfortable and sedated until I can examine her again. Not the dose she was given yesterday – that's not necessary. She isn't violent." Julia grabbed a pad and began writing out her instructions. "Just enough to keep her safe and calm."

"Yes, Dr. Hoffman," Gail repeated.

"Thanks," Julia said, smiling thinly. Judging by Gail's reaction, she wondered if she had never heard her say the word before.

Things _had_ changed, she assured herself, as she turned and walked back to her office. She was not the hard, detached administrator Gail remembered. She was not the woman who had erased Maggie's memories without a second thought, seeing it as a means to an end. She was not sure she was even the woman who had protected Barnabas at all costs; some costs might now be too high. 

She had chosen her own path; she could not believe the past was doomed to repeat itself, that wrongs could not be righted. She refused to accept that it was too late to choose correctly, too late to fix things. It couldn't simply be a matter of choosing the least tragic outcome or bowing to an unhappy but honorable fate. Suddenly she felt empowered beyond all reason, certain, somehow, there was still a way out. It only remained for her to find it.


	63. Chapter 63

**_Barnabas in Parallel Time_ **

"Barnabas? Barnabas!" 

He awoke, bolting upright, momentarily in a dazed panic at the sound of Julia's voice calling for him and her banging at the door. He grabbed his robe and all but leapt from the bed, hastily putting it on as he moved to the door.

"Julia, what is it?" It only took a moment for the memory of the night before to come back to him. "Is it Amy? Is she all right?"

"She's fine – I'm sorry I scared you. Do you mind if I come in?"

"No, of course not." He gestured for her to enter, and followed her lead as she sat on the edge of the bed. 

"Amy's still asleep – she should be her old self again in an hour or so," she said. "I wanted to talk to you before she wakes up."

He noticed the small notebook she held in her lap, spiral bound, covered in small pastel-colored flowers. "Is that Amy's diary?"

"Yes," she frowned, looking down at it. "I felt terrible reading it. I put it down I don't know how many times during the night. But I couldn't sleep because I kept wondering if there might be something in it that could help her... And now I'm glad I did."

"What did you find?" he asked, concerned.

Julia handed the diary to him, as if it were something foul she could no longer stand to touch. She rose and began pacing the room as he skimmed the pages, her face somewhere between fury and disgust. "She writes about Jennifer, of course, how she loves and admires her. I always knew she looked at Jennifer as a role model, and I always thought she was good for her despite my personal feelings – oh, I thought it was so big of me to let her continue to teach Amy! I was such a fool."

Barnabas, half listening to her tirade, half reading Amy's words, whispered an astonished, "Oh, my god."

"Yes," Julia said, no adjectives springing to mind strong enough to describe the words he was reading. "There's a reason why she admired Jennifer so much. She admired Jennifer because she somehow convinced Amy that she has the power to keep Chris safe – as long as Amy did what she was told."

Barnabas, seeing exactly the passage Julia was referring to, read aloud: "'I'm happy to do what she tells me to do just because I like her so much, but this way I feel like I'm doing something to help my brother, too.'"

"Except during the full moon," Julia let out an angry sort of laugh. "Nothing can protect us then, she told her."

"Do you think Jennifer knew somehow that Chris was a werewolf? How could she?"

"There's something off about her, Barnabas. She knows a lot more than she lets on. Amy writes about what she calls 'toys' that Jennifer would show her. One she was particularly interested in, some kind of gold ball, Jennifer told her could bring people 'back and forth.' She said she could bring Chris here, if Amy was a very good girl. Perhaps she was only manipulating and frightening Amy, but it sound like object of – I don't know – _witchcraft,_ if you ask me."

"Witchcraft..." Barnabas mused to himself, the word prompting a thought that lingered at the edge of his conscious mind but could not quite break through. He flipped the pages, scanning them quickly as he asked, "What did Jennifer tell Amy to do?"

Julia began pacing again, her hands clenching into fists. "She had Amy arrange meetings between her and Barnabas, tell her when I was going to be gone from the house. It's disgusting, to do that to a little girl! I'll kill her, if I get the chance. I really will kill her!"

"She's insane," Barnabas said darkly. "She sounds just like..." Who? There had been another so evil, so desperate to have him – it was absurd that he could not name her now. 

Julia wasn't listening to him, caught up in her own rage. "I thought I was doing the right thing for Amy; I couldn't have been more wrong. If I had only told her the truth about Chris, Jennifer couldn't have had this hold over her. I thought she was too fragile to deal with the truth – but all along, it was Jennifer who was making her unstable, feeding her fears about what happened to Chris on the full moon. I could have spared her all this!"

"Julia, don't blame yourself." He set down the diary and rose to stand by her. "You made the best choice you could for her. And now you know what's really been happening. It's not too late to put things right."

Julia nodded, pulling herself together. "I know. And I will tell her the truth. As soon as we're all back where we belong. I'll need him here to get through it."

He nodded too, smiling gently to reassure them both. "No more lies and evasions – I guess we've all learned that, haven't we?"

"Are you looking for a silver lining to all of this?" she asked wryly, but softened, taking in and letting out a cleansing breath. "Speaking of which... there's so much more I need to tell you, but it all slipped my mind after everything that happened last night. I did run into Quentin and Vicky again yesterday, before I left the hospital. And they let me see Maggie – she asked to see me, later."

He tensed, expecting the worst. "Oh?"

"Both Vicky and Maggie were fine, after you left. Somehow it seems that seeing you triggers something, but it's more emotional than anything else, not clear memories. I'm hoping it has something to do with _you_ being in this time, and it will stop once you're gone."

"Perhaps it will. It seems to get worse, the longer I stay here. And it seems to have more to do with things that happened in my time," Barnabas mused.

"Anyway, I finally had the chance to talk to Quentin and Vicky alone – and I told them the truth about Chris."

"How did Quentin take it?"

"As well as could be hoped for, I guess. I think he's going to be a bit angry with me for a while – it's not her fault, she couldn't have known, but your Julia did talk to him on more than one occasion as if he were alive. I'd taken the approach of avoiding the issue, not that that's any better."

"I suppose we'll all have a number of little messes to clean up when we get back to our own times," Barnabas noted.

"And some larger ones, too, I'm afraid," Julia grimaced. "My conversation with Dave went... less well."

"Then he is still suspicious," Barnabas surmised.

"He had some old medical supply orders of mine, from when I was working on the cure. I tried to tell him the usual story about your rare blood disease, but he saw that it didn't add up. I don't understand where he got them, or why he had them all this time but waited until now to mention it."

Barnabas' face went white. "This is exactly what happened in my time."

"How can this be happening?" Julia asked, terrified. "What the events in your time are repeating here – what if we can't stop it? What if the symmetry-breaking event was something terrible after all – something to do with Dave--"

"No," he said forcefully, cutting her off. "We will not allow that to happen. Dave won't find out in this time."

Julia's eyes went slightly wide, as if she were suddenly afraid to be near him. "Dave did find out your secret in your time, didn't he?"

Barnabas pulled back, wishing physical distance could stop her from realizing what it meant. He said, quietly, "Yes. He did."

"And you..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't say what she had long suspected to be true: you killed him.

"It's not going to happen again," he promised her. "That could not have been the symmetry-breaking event – whatever it was had to have been weeks before that, from everything we know."

"I still don't know how we can stop him from investigating this now that he's started. He started raving about the notes I kept during that time..."

"Where are the notes?" Barnabas asked, suddenly seized by panic.

"They're under lock and key at Collinwood. I don't know why I never moved them here, but they're quite safe–"

Barnabas felt his stomach drop. Again it felt like it was happening all over again.

Before he could protest, they heard a feeble voice in the hall call out, "Mom? Daddy?"

"We're in here, sweetheart," Julia returned, shooting an encouraging smile at Barnabas, as if to say everything was going to be all right. He was not at all sure that it was.

Amy poked her head in first, as if to check that it was truly safe to enter, then came bouncing in like nothing had happened the night before. She hugged Julia and Barnabas in turn.

"I _thought_ I smelled pancakes," Amy said in a slightly sarcastic tone, "but I guess you haven't really even gotten out of bed yet."

"Do I detect the hint of a reprimand in your tone, young lady?" Barnabas asked with mock sternness.

Amy giggled. "Yes!"

"You have quite a lot of nerve," he admonished her, "but at least you're honest."

"So we can have pancakes?"

Julia said, "You set the table, and we'll have pancakes."

"Deal!" Amy agreed readily. "And afterward, can I walk over to Collinwood?"

"I don't know, Amy, we'll see how it goes."

"See what?" Amy pressed. "I left in the middle of a game of chess with David yesterday, and I was really going to beat him this time!"

Barnabas could see the conflict play over Julia's features, but he knew above all she did not want to hold the girl back from her normal life. And, like every other time, she had made a full recovery the morning after. "All right. We'll have breakfast, and then I'll walk to Collinwood with you. There's something I need to do there this morning anyhow."

"OK! I'm going to go set the table!" Amy raced out of the room without waiting for them to reconsider the terms of the deal.

"Slow down, Amy!" Julia yelled after her, but smiled, knowing it was useless. She turned back to Barnabas and said, "I'll bring back that notebook from my bedroom at Collinwood, just to put your mind at ease."

"All right," he said, making a concerted effort to let go of his irrational fears on that subject. He remembered all too well how he had treated his Julia on account of that notebook, and he did not want a repeat of that any more than he wanted a repeat of Dave Woodard's finding it. He did not want a repeat of any of it, but at the moment he felt powerless to stop it.


	64. Chapter 64

Julia knew using Quentin's device would not be a simple undertaking from the moment Barnabas, looking apprehensive, and Elliot, looking solemn, entered her office. She sat at her desk and motioned for them to take the two chairs opposite her. When he thought Elliot wasn't watching, Julia noticed Barnabas gazing at her searchingly, looking for some sign of what had happened that morning with Maggie. Her lips formed a thin line; she couldn't go into that now.

She skipped all the niceties, and hoped there would be no lengthy explanations and warnings. They wouldn't make any difference to her. "Well? You said it was ready."

"I _said_ ," Elliot amended, as if it made all the difference, "as ready as it is going to be." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small golden orb.

"It looks exactly like what Angelique had!" Julia exclaimed, looking at it in fascination. "How did you ever create it so fast?"

"Creating it was the easy part," Elliot smiled, pleased with himself. "I know a talented glassblower who doesn't ask questions. Yes, it's made of glass – it's actually quite fragile. I did the rest, following Quentin's instructions. The golden light it casts comes from within. It operates on the same principle as his staircase, but it is less stable, opening a sort of portal around it, rather than establishing a permanent, fixed one."

Julia frowned. "So you weren't able to control for any of the concerns you had?" 

She saw Barnabas shift uncomfortably in response to her question; evidently he already knew and did not like the answer.

"No. And I realized no matter how long I worked with it, I never would be able to," Elliot said. "I want us all to go in with our eyes wide open to the fact that we have absolutely no idea what might happen. Let me remind you of the dangers. If there is any physical difference between us and our counterparts – and we have no way of knowing if any of them have, for example, suffered an injury – it could mean disaster. And there is no way to control who goes and who stays."

Julia was undeterred; the risks were not a surprise to her. "Well, whoever makes it, we know what we must do, don't we? Make everyone understand that it is Angelique we're fighting, and somehow defeat her. We're in danger most of all because our counterparts don't even know what we're up against. If they knew, they could resist her."

Barnabas spoke quietly, but he had stopped fidgeting, resigned to what must be done. "I agree, it would be worth it if even one of us succeeds in getting through."

"I have just one other question," Julia said, shooting a significant glance at Barnabas, then turning back to Elliot. "Please don't ask me for details now – there isn't time. But it seems that some people, both in your time and mine, have been affected by this time travel, even though they did not move through time themselves – simply because our lives impact theirs. They are acting strangely, seemingly repeating or remembering events from the past, or even events that occurred in the opposite time."

This troubled Elliot but did not seem to surprise him. "Yes, I believe that could be caused by prolonged use of this method of time travel; it makes time itself more unstable. The effect it has upon others will likely be more pronounced the more frequently this device is used and the longer we stay in the wrong times."

Julia asked, "If we use it again now, will it make the situation worse?"

"It might," he frowned. "But if we act quickly and set things right, the damage may be minimal."

"What about the damage that's already been done?" Julia pressed him. "If we fix things, will it reverse the damage?"

"I believe it will stop it from progressing. I don't know that it will reverse what's been done."

Julia accepted this unhappily, terrified to think what state Maggie might be in when she next saw her – or what state she would find the others in if she succeeded in returning to parallel time. She exchanged an uncomfortable look with Barnabas: without being told, he knew the situation might be dire. They reaffirmed with silent nods that they understood what was at stake and what had to be done.

Elliot continued gravely, "If we succeed, the first chance I have, I will destroy Quentin's notes and the device in my possession. I suggest you do the same in your time."

"Yes, I think that's for the best," Julia said, then rose abruptly, tugging her suit jacket down in a gesture of finality. "Then we're all agreed about what must be done. How do we proceed?"

Elliot rose, too, walking to a clear space in the middle of the floor. Julia and Barnabas followed him, and formed a circle facing each other. "Come closer," he said, and they moved so that they were standing almost shoulder to shoulder.

Elliot issued one last directive: "If, after we use this device, any of us remains here, I suggest we agree that we will not leave the premises under any circumstances, and wait for those of us who do return to the other time to act. In the case that we all find ourselves in that time, I've written a letter to our counterparts, who will presumably return here, asking that they do the same." He removed the letter from his pocket, and dropped it on the floor between their feet, where the others were sure to see it.

He raised the ornament in front of them all, dangling from a gold chain at eye level. As it hung there, it began to glow, radiating light and warmth. "Ready?" Elliot asked at the last moment they could have backed out. Julia and Barnabas nodded, and Elliot gave it one twist. The next moment, all went black.

\----------------------------

 

Julia almost fell over with the shift in her momentum, suddenly finding herself walking briskly on a dirt path where a moment ago she had been standing in her carpeted office at Wyndcliffe. Regaining her balance, she whirled around, trying to get her bearings. She was alone, on the Collinwood estate, evidently walking back toward the Old House. She couldn't help but break out into a grin as she realized she had succeeded – she must be back in parallel time. She had no idea what her counterpart had just been doing, but the Old House was exactly where she wanted to go.

She picked up her pace, jogging the rest of the short distance back, wondering who she would find there. Had the Barnabas and Elliot of parallel time also traveled back, or if they were still stuck in her office at Wyndcliffe, depending on her to set everything right? She was almost certain to find Barnabas at the Old House – but would it be the Barnabas of parallel time again, or her Barnabas? Again she couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of seeing him again – they had only been apart for a few days, but the days felt interminably long, full of worry and loneliness.

"Barnabas? Barnabas!" Breathless, she raced into the Old House foyer and through the entrance to the drawing room where she found him – yes, it was Barnabas, but which...?

He rose from his chair by the fire, striding toward her, his eyes full of surprise, but also recognition and certainty. "Julia!" he exclaimed, taking her into his arms without preamble. He held her tightly for a moment, then pulled back again, astonished. "How were you able to come back?"

"I–" she began, but she shook her head, overwhelmed and confused. He couldn't have known to expect her. "How did you know it was me?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't know you?" He smiled down at her, his eyes dark and earnest. "Oh, Julia, there's so much I need to tell you."

She positively beamed, his warmth and certainty telling her all she needed to know, but all the same she wished they could spend the day talking it through. But there was too much left to resolve before they could be free to have that discussion. She forced herself to focus as she said, "Yes, but please, let me start. We may not have much time, and if we're separated again you have to know what's going on here so you can fight it."

He was conflicted, prepared to insist – if they were separated again, it seemed equally urgent to him that she understand how he felt. But he knew that look on her face, and was sure she knew more of what was happening here than he. Grudgingly, he motioned for her to sit opposite him by the fire.

"Barnabas, I know this will be hard for you to believe, because she has you under a spell of some kind. But the first thing you must know is that Jennifer _is_ Angelique."

For a moment, he felt his mind shut down, triggering a defense that had been planted there; he was simply unwilling or unable to process this information. He turned away from her, staring blankly into space.

Julia leaned forward, knowing what happened to him when he acted this way now, desperate to break the hold Angelique had over him. "Barnabas, she's been manipulating you, forcing you to do things against your will. Do you remember telling me you felt like something was wrong, that you didn't mean to do or say the things you did about Jennifer?"

"Yes..." he acknowledged, confused, but finding her words pulled at his mind as strongly as this other force.

"You didn't do any of those things, Barnabas. She planted thoughts and memories in your mind to make you believe you did, but you didn't want to, and you didn't do it."

"No... I didn't want to..." He clenched and unclenched his fists, an anger he could not quite associate with its source coursing through him.

She reached out and took one of his hands in hers to force him to relax, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "You _didn't_ ," she assured him. "There's no doubt in my mind you didn't."

All at once he seemed to snap out of it, turning to face her, himself again. He said vehemently, "I never would have done those things."

She breathed a sigh of relief – it was her Barnabas again, completely hers. "I know you wouldn't. Please, forgive me, for ever thinking you had."

"Forgive _you_ –?" His eyes went slightly wide; if anyone had something to apologize for, surely it was not her.

"I should have known better, I should have trusted you." She shook her head, ashamed. "I was too hurt and proud..."

"There was no way you could have known," he said gently. "But how did you find out?"

"Angelique trapped me in my room that night at the party. She confessed everything to me. Barnabas, not only is she Angelique – she's the Angelique of _our_ time. That's why she wanted to bring us here – she wasn't just after any Barnabas. She was after _you._ "

He felt physically sick as the truth washed over him. Suddenly he remembered how Jennifer – no, _Angelique_ – had cornered him time and again, forcing him to stare into her eyes, and he still did not know what she did to him after that. But he could remember fighting back now; he remembered his moments of lucidity she later forced him to forget. Whatever had obscured her face in his mind melted away, and he could picture, clearly, the image of Angelique in all his memories. He remembered that run-down house she was staying in for what it was, and that strange bedroom she had designed, presumably, as a sort of love nest.

"Oh god," he breathed. "It is her..."

“Yes!” Julia exclaimed, excited and relieved. "Now that you know, you need to fight her, Barnabas. Do you think you can?"

"She'll never have that power over me ever again," he snarled. 

Julia allowed herself a small smile of triumph at his resoluteness, but she continued, "The next thing you need to know is that she has been using a device created by the first Quentin Collins that can manipulate time and send people back and forth to near bands of parallel time. She brought us here with it when we tried to return from 1840. And she sent me back with it, the night of the party."

"That device..." A lightbulb seemed to go off in Barnabas' head. "Amy wrote about it in her diary – and that was the 'toy' she described that day you hypnotized her, too!"

"Yes, exactly," Julia nodded.

"Angelique told Amy she could bring Chris back to her with it. Do you think she would have brought Chris from our time to Amy?"

"She's insane; I don't know what she would have tried. But I don't think she could have, Barnabas – I think that's the only reason the device has no effect on her when she uses it. She has no counterpart to trade places with."

"And neither would Chris," Barnabas finished her thought sadly. But then a thought struck him: "Do you think she's trapped in this time, then?"

"I don't know, but at the very least I think that means she can't use the device to move through time anymore," Julia said. "The other Elliot Stokes was able to create another, and that's how I came back to you now. We didn't know which of us would make it. Clearly, the other Barnabas was left behind. I wonder which Elliot is in this time now? Barnabas, do you know were he is? We should go and try to find him before we do anything else."

At the mention of his name, Barnabas remembered. "She has him – Angelique does. She's holding him where she's living now. She made me forget, but it's all coming back to me!"

"He's in terrible danger, then. And if the parallel Elliot Stokes did come back, he has that device on him. If she finds it, she'll know–"

"We have to get to her first. Is that the only way we can return to our time?"

Julia sighed – there seemed to be no easy way back. "I don't know that we'll ever figure out how to repeat that symmetry-breaking event, if there ever was one. But with this, there's no controlling how people move through time. And it's dangerous – people can get stuck between times or even die if there is any physical difference between one and their counterpart." A terrible thought occurred to her. "Angelique didn't hurt Elliot, did she?"

"No, I don't think so. He's tied up, but safe for the moment."

"I hope so." Julia tapped her foot nervously, eager to act. There was one last thing she needed Barnabas to know. "Barnabas, we think using that device, manipulating time this way, is the reason why people around us are remembering things and acting strangely. In our time, Maggie is remembering, too. I saw her at Wyndcliffe. She's acting just like she did when she first came to Wyndcliffe."

"I don't know why I thought it would be any different in our time," he said darkly. "Everyone who was acting strangely at the party still is, but the real danger is Dave Woodard. It seems to be repeating exactly as it happened in our time – he's asking questions, he discovered your medical supply orders, and now I'm afraid he's after your notes from that time. That's why the other Julia went to Collinwood, to check to see if the notebook was still there. You don't know if it was, do you?"

"I was on my way back here when I returned. I have no idea." She looked at him, terrified. "Barnabas, I know this is just the effects of time travel, but I can't help but feel like our past is catching up to us."

"Perhaps it was inevitable that it would, someday," he said quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"It feels like we're being punished, not only by Angelique, because I don't think she can control what's happening to Maggie and Dave. It's almost as if we're being forced to pay for all the wrong we've done. Now, when we're so close to being free."

"It is not going to be that way," he said vehemently. "I don't believe we deserve to be punished. Not like this. We're going to fight it and fix things."

She shook her head sadly – it seemed so hopeless. "It's not going to be so easy. Elliot thinks that if we get back to our own time, it will stop the effects from continuing, but probably not undo the damage already done. It might not be too late for the others. But once Maggie has started remembering, and Dave has started asking questions, I don't know what can stop them."

"We'll deal with it," he insisted. "We'll fix it. _Together._ " 

She looked up at him, and saw him starting back at him, that warmth and certainty that so comforted her returned to his face. "You sound so sure, I almost believe it."

"I wasn't sure at all, when you were gone. I was a wreck, Julia. I didn't have the first clue what was going on or how to fight it. I missed you, and I was terrified something awful had happened to you. But now that you're here again, nothing is going to stop me."

"It was the same for me, Barnabas," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt as if she were saying 'I love you, too.'

"Whatever happens nothing is ever going to come between us again." He took a deep breath. He wouldn't wait for the perfect moment again; he would create it. "Julia–"

He was interrupted by the sound of the telephone. There was at least one argument against having one installed.

"Who do you think that is, Barnabas?" 

He shrugged, frustrated. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

"I'll get it," she said, crossing the room quickly to answer. "Hello?"

"Good morning, Julia." Dave Woodard's voice came across the line. She wondered if she imagined the sneer she heard in his voice.

"Good morning, Dave," she said evenly, turning around to exchange a worried glance with Barnabas. "How are you?"

"Just fine, just fine." He cleared his throat – he seemed nervous, too. "Listen, Julia, I wonder if you might stop by my office sometime this afternoon."

She twisted the phone cord around her finger absently. "What's it about, Dave? Isn't it something we could discuss over the phone?"

"No, I think you'd better come here to see it. It's about a very complicated case. I would like to get your input before I proceed."

"All right, Dave, sure. I'll come right now."

"Thanks, Julia. I've always been able to count on you." She couldn't be imagining the sarcasm with which he said this – it was not subtle. 

"See you soon, Dave," she said, then hung up the phone, dread descending as she did so. 

A moment later, Barnabas was at her side, steering her to look at him with a hand light at her elbow. "What did he say?"

"He wants to see me, in his office." She looked up at him, the terror and despair evident in her eyes. "The last time I saw Dave in his office, in our time–"

"Don't," he said gently. "It isn't happening again."

"Maybe we shouldn't go. Maybe we should go straight to Angelique, deal with her, and go home."

Barnabas kept his voice steady and strong, though he spoke words she did not want to hear. "We have to find a way to deal with Dave Woodard, too. If he has learned something, we'd be leaving the other Barnabas to face a death sentence."

"I just don't think I can go through it again, Barnabas..." She closed her eyes tightly. She was prepared to stare down any supernatural foe, but this was something else. 

"It isn't like before Julia," he said, holding her firmly by both arms. "I'm here _with_ you now."

"I know. I know." She nodded slowly, taking a deep, cleansing breath. She had him by her side now; they could each be strong where the other was weak. She forced herself to focus again on the challenge before them, trying to sublimate her fears. "Dave was suspicious before, in this time, but for some reason he backed off."

"Yes, that's what the other Julia told me – they never understood why."

"I wish we had time to figure it out. There must be some way to make him forget about it again." The one possibility she could think of chilled her. "I don't want to hypnotize him, Barnabas. I can't do that anymore."

He nodded – he understood. "We'll find another way. But we'd better hurry."

As they walked to the door, he took her hand again as if to underline what he had said: they would face this danger – and anything else that came their way – side by side, together.


	65. Chapter 65

Standing outside Dave Woodard's office door, Barnabas whispered, "Perhaps we should have gone to Collinwood, just to see if the notebook was there. We may be walking blindly into a trap!"

Julia whispered back, "It only would have delayed us and raised more questions. We just don't have any time, Barnabas."

"What are we going to say to him?" he asked. They had been unable to form a strategy on the drive to the hospital. 

"We're going to have to play it by ear." She tried to give him a reassuring smile, despite not feeling at all assured herself. "And like you said, we're here for each other now."

Barnabas nodded. That may be all they had – but it was no small thing.

Taking a deep breath, Julia knocked once and then entered Dave's office without waiting to be called in, as if it were any ordinary friendly visit.

"Hi, Dave," Julia said with deliberate casualness as she stepped inside, Barnabas just behind. "I hope you don't mind, I brought Barnabas along with me. We have a few errands to run around town, anyhow."

"Let's not play cat and mouse," Dave said, stepping around his desk to face them. "I know exactly why you're here."

Julia was shocked by his immediately hostile attitude, but he cut her off before she could respond.

"It's because of this, isn't it?" He took the red notebook she recognized all too well from his coat pocket and thrust it at her. "You knew I had it, didn't you?"

"Dave, I don't know where you got that or what you think it is–" she stalled, uselessly reaching out to take it from him.

"This notebook isn't any good to you anymore. I already know its contents," he said derisively.

"You've read it," she breathed, closing her eyes to try to stay calm. It _was_ happening all over again – verbatim. It was unfolding just as it had in their own time.

"Yes. Cover to cover. Every last fantastic word. I know about your experiments. I know what Barnabas Collins is. Julia, I know everything."

"What are you going to do?" Julia asked; she knew she had said the words before. This final confrontation with Woodard again seemed to be heading unstoppably to the same terrible conclusion. 

"What am I going to do? I'm going straight to the police." 

Julia pleaded with him, blocking his exit. "Dave, it's true, Barnabas did suffer from an unusual condition, several years ago. But he's been cured for a long time, he's no danger to anyone!"

"There's nothing you can do to stop me, Julia."

Barnabas stood behind her, waiting to step in when she needed him, but sure his words would only provoke Woodard more. He put his hand on her back lightly to steady her.

"Dave, you've got to listen to me," she said, then shook her head. That's just what she had said before. She had to stop the conversation from following that same path!

"Listen to you? After what you've done?" Dave sneered.

"Dave, it isn't his fault, what he was. And since he's been cured, he's been a good husband, friend, and family member to everyone who knows him. And I–"

"You protected Barnabas Collins, knowing what he was!" Dave spat out. "You protected him!"

"Yes, I protected him, because I knew that deep down he was only an ordinary man suffering from an affliction, an affliction I knew I could cure–"

He advanced on her, knowing he had touched a nerve, goading her, "And to get that knowledge, you were willing to sacrifice human beings' lives. You, a doctor!"

She protested, "I tried to protect everyone. I tried to do the right thing–"

"There's no excuse for you, Julia," he growled, full of righteous fury. "There's no excuse in the world for what you've done."

"That's enough," Barnabas said, stepping in front of her to shield her from his attacks. "Dave, you must understand that everything Julia did was under my coercion." 

"Barnabas, no–" she clutched at his elbow, trying to stop him. 

"Until now, I hoped this was a nightmare," Dave said, as if seeing Barnabas for the first time. "Now I know it isn't."

"It isn't a nightmare, Dave. It isn't anything at all," Barnabas said, his hands open and extended out toward him to show he meant him no harm. "I'm just an ordinary man like you."

"What are you planning to do?" Dave asked.

"I'm planning to do nothing," Barnabas said, an awful feeling of deja vu coming over him, too. He had said the same thing, then, but with an entirely different tone and intent. It couldn't be happening again – he would not murder Dave Woodard. But if it didn't end that way, how would it end?

"Are you going to kill me?" Dave asked, more of a taunt than a question.

Barnabas stopped in his tracks; advancing toward him seemed to be egging him on. "No, Dave, we're not going to kill you. We just want to talk to you."

"Death wasn't my worst fear," Dave said defiantly.

"You have _nothing_ to fear from us."

Dave ranted on and on, the horrible words that had merely amused Barnabas the first time now wounded him deeply. "I prefer death to being something like you are, something loathsome and evil. Something inhuman in human form. I'd prefer anything rather than become the undead."

Barnabas turned back to Julia and said, quietly, "There's nothing we can say. There's nothing we can do to stop it."

"It's happening all over again," she whispered, the same horror registering on her face.

He stood by her, dropping his hand next to hers and entwining their fingers. If there was no stopping it, they would endure it together.

Dave went on raving, "My only regret, Barnabas, is that I won't live to be able to destroy you."

"I was a monster once, Dave, it's true," Barnabas said with perfect calm. "But I'm not anymore. I'm not, because Julia saved me."

"Barnabas, if you make me into something like yourself, I swear I'll find a way to destroy myself. But first I'll find a way to let people know what you are."

Barnabas shook his head, grieved. Dave's words were a long way from making sense now, but still they cut through him. He tormented himself enough with similar thoughts; they haunted his dreams at night. He felt Julia squeeze his hand and he reminded himself he was not a monster in her eyes. He never had been.

Dave came at them again, sneering, "If you chose, Barnabas, you could destroy yourself. You could turn yourself in."

Barnabas tried to remain calm and rational. "I take responsibility for what I have done. But it's not as simple as that."

"No, of course you won't." Dave shook his head, disgusted. "But you could. And I would."

Barnabas dropped Julia's hand, moving toward Dave again, making a last futile attempt to reason with him. "Please, try to understand–"

Dave backed away, acting like he were being cornered. "You don't have to hold me. I know I can't escape."

"I have no intention of holding you here or harming you in any way!" Barnabas protested.

"Barnabas, I'm not going to struggle. Death is undignified enough without my making it worse."

Julia shouted, desperate, "Dave, please, we're not going to kill you!" 

As if he hadn't heard her, he turned on her again, taunting her, "Dr. Hoffman, one of the brightest and, I thought, bravest doctors I've ever known. So much good you could have done, the lives you could have saved, Julia! The suffering you could have helped!"

His condemnation tore at her as deeply as it had the first time. The words echoed the ones she had wrestled with in silence every day since. 

Knowing Woodard's next words couldn't be changed no matter what he said or did, Barnabas went to Julia. He took both her hands in his and whispered, "No, Julia. It's not true. You have done so much good. Don't forget all the lives you have saved."

"How am I to die?" Woodard demanded, oblivious to the moment they shared.

"What can we say to you, Dave?" Julia shook her head, despairing of finding any way out. "Barnabas is human. He is a _good_ man. He would never hurt anyone again."

" _Julia,_ " Dave simply sneered at her.

"Whatever happens," Barnabas whispered to her, "we're in this together."

"He's right," Dave jeered at her nonsensically, as if he did not hear the words of this Barnabas before him, but those spoken years ago, in another time. "You no longer have any friends Julia."

Barnabas turned back toward him, slowly approaching him with his hands raised again. "Dave, I know you can't understand this right now, but you're under the influence of a strange phenomenon. You're not yourself right now, Dave. You can't help what you're saying; you're not really even responding to us. You are repeating the words of another man who met a different fate. But you are completely safe now with us."

As Barnabas came closer to him, Dave looked over his shoulder, jumping and pointing. "Sarah! Sarah! There, there!"

Barnabas knew the conversation was leading to this moment, and briefly he considered taking the opening to tackle Woodard to the ground and holding him there until he could talk sense into him, if that's what it took. But he was surprised when he heard Julia gasp, "Barnabas! Look!"

Barnabas whirled around, following Julia's gaze toward the door where, this time, the slightly haloed form of Sarah really had appeared.

Barnabas took several steps away from Dave and toward Sarah, amazed that she had really appeared this time. "Sarah, how–?"

But Sarah walked forward past Barnabas, without so much as glancing at him. All of her attention was focused on Dave, who watched her come to him as if mesmerized. 

"Sarah," Dave said, calmed now, a serene smile coming over his face. "Sarah, I've been looking for you, I've been waiting to see you."

"I know, Dr. Woodard," she said brightly.

"I had almost forgotten you existed, but I knew you were real!" Dave then laughed, almost delirious. "Isn't that funny?"

"It's not funny, Dave. I know why it happened."

"Why, Sarah? I didn't want to forget you. You were a friend of mine, weren't you?"

"We are friends, Dr. Woodard. I'm sad it has to be this way, too."

Barnabas moved back to Julia's side as they watched what happened, astonished, but slowly relaxing, believing that somehow Sarah might be able to talk Dave out of what he was about to do. Barnabas took Julia's hand again. Both began to breathe more easily.

Dave, however, seemed suddenly distressed again. "Why, Sarah? What's going to happen?"

Sarah explained, calmly and kindly, "You don't remember, but I told you once before that Barnabas was a good man. And that you shouldn't try to hurt him."

"I don't want to hurt him, Sarah. I just want him to be brought to justice for what he's done, so he can't hurt anyone else."

"He won't hurt anyone else. He has turned to good. He has turned to love."

Barnabas squeezed Julia's hand lightly, wordlessly making clear Sarah's meaning. She returned the pressure, too overwhelmed by the implication to confront it directly now. She continued to watch Sarah and Dave, but allowed herself to drift nearer to Barnabas, her shoulder resting against his, taking comfort in his closeness.

Dave looked confused. "Of course, Sarah, if you really believe that..."

"Trust me, Dr. Woodard. I see a lot more, from where I sit!" Sarah said with a little laugh.

"Of course, Sarah."

"You're going to fall asleep for a little while, Dr. Woodard. And when you wake up, you won't remember what you think Barnabas did. You'll be friends again. I'm sorry, but you won't remember me, either."

"I don't want to forget you, Sarah," he said sadly. But he turned and walked to his desk chair and sat, almost as though his will were not his own.

"I won't forget you, Dr. Woodard. Goodbye."

Barnabas and Julia didn't see anything happen, but the next moment, Dave's eyes closed, and he slept, evidently peacefully.

Sarah turned around and acknowledged Barnabas and Julia for the first time, wearing an impish grin.

"Thank you, Sarah," Barnabas said, releasing Julia's hand to kneel next to Sarah. "He really won't remember?"

"No. He will forget everything he thought about you."

"When you said you helped your brother once before, is this what you meant? You interceded with Dr. Woodard?"

Sarah nodded proudly. "Yes. And you know why, don't you, Barnabas? Do you remember what I told you?"

"I remember, Sarah," he said solemnly. "Sarah, do you know... is that reason the difference between your time and mine? Is that the difference that can put everything right again?"

Sarah nodded vigorously again, pleased that he was catching on. "You will put everything right again, won't you, Barnabas?"

"Yes, Sarah, I promise I will. There's just one other thing I need to take care of before I can."

"I have to go now, Barnabas," she said, looking a little sad. "I cannot help you any longer."

Barnabas felt that sadness, too, but he responded, "I understand."

"I know you are going to see her now. She is too powerful. I cannot fight her. And she knows when I am around."

"It's all right, Sarah. You've done so much to help us already."

"Goodbye, Barnabas."

"Sarah–" He reached out to her; he wanted to hold her just once, even if she wasn't really his sister. But she took several steps backwards, then slowly disappeared before their eyes.

Julia laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him the moment he needed to deal with the inevitable feeling of mourning he experienced every time Sarah left. He rose, finally, shaking it off, and slowly a triumphant smile came over his face. He embraced Julia, holding her close to him.

"I didn't know what we were going to do," he laughed into her hair. 

She wrapped her arms around him, too, at first taken aback by his repeated displays of affection, but beginning to acclimate herself to them. "I know – I was paralyzed. I was almost ready to give in – I almost believed this was the fate we deserved."

He pulled back to look at her with dark and serious eyes. "I almost believed the same – but you know it isn't so, don't you? I would have staked my life on Sarah's judgment. And if she believes we deserve to live freely and happily, I must, too."

"Yes," Julia nodded. "I believe that, too." She pulled away then, the intensity of their connection almost overpowering her. But they were not out of danger yet. And she still had lingering questions. "So that was why Dave stopped asking questions before in this time?"

"Sarah stopped him in this time, because Barnabas had already turned to good." He looked down sadly – their lives could have been so different. "I, of course, had not, and so she did not help me in our time."

"But now that she believes you have..." Julia trailed off, remembering the rest of what Sarah said. "What did she mean when she asked if you remembered what she told you?"

Barnabas wanted more than anything to tell her what Sarah meant, what was truly in his heart. Not only with little gestures but with words, definite, irrevocable words. But he had begun to suspect what would happen when he did say it. And they needed to settle one last score first. "I will tell you, just as soon as I can, but I cannot just yet. Trust me."

"I do," she said.

"We need to deal with Angelique, once and for all. I know where to find her." He took a deep breath, feeling powerful now, unstoppable next to her.

She smiled up at him, feeling much the same. "All right," she said. "Let's finish this."


	66. Chapter 66

At the door to Angelique's strange abode, standing below the rotting eaves where they could not be seen from an upstairs window, Barnabas said, "Follow me in, but stay a good distance behind. I don't want her to know you're here unless it's absolutely necessary."

Julia shook her head, rejecting that plan absolutely. "Barnabas, I'm not going to let you walk into harm's way alone!"

"I'm not asking you to." He knew better than that by now. "I'm asking you to give me a head start, so I can distract her. And when the way is clear, I need you to come in and free Elliot. The last time I was here, she did something to me to keep me from seeing him, but I know he's tied up in plain sight. If she doesn't know you're here, you should be able to get to him easily. And between the three of us, we may be able to overpower her."

Julia took a deep breath, nodding. "All right. But be very careful."

"Julia, please be careful, too." He placed both his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with worry for what they were about to face. But a sense of hope seemed to lie just beyond. "When we're home..."

She nodded, smiling, understanding him perfectly. There would be time for all of that when they were home. "Go on. I'll follow you."

He turned and walked cautiously into the house, stepping over the broken things that kept the door propped partway open. It was different than he remembered it now that the deception had faded: darker, dirtier; but he still remembered the way. As he walked on, he looked over his shoulder several times to make sure Julia was behind him, but staying a safe distance back. Each time, she smiled back at him, encouraging him on. When he reached Angelique's door, he dared not look back again, but trusted she was there, waiting, ready to act when the moment came.

Barnabas entered the bedroom quietly, leaving the door open just a crack. He looked around: this room alone was exactly as he remembered it. It existed exactly as she had intended it to be seen. 

"Barnabas." Angelique stepped out into the light from behind a dressing screen, her voice warm and dripping with sweetness. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and her white gown trailed behind her as she walked toward him. She almost looked angelic, but he had no illusions about what she truly was. 

Holding her arms out to him, she said, "You've come to stand by my side, once and for all."

"I've come to settle things between us, once and for all," he corrected, calmly but stonily. "No more tricks, Angelique. No more spells. I know what you've been doing to me. Let us have this out, just us, just as we are."

He walked deeper into the room slowly, passing Angelique and turning to face her so that her back was now to the door. He could not see Julia, but he knew she was waiting there in the darkness. 

"All right, Barnabas," Angelique said. "No more spells." 

He did not show it, but he detected with interest a nervous edge to her voice. He said, "Angelique, I came here to apologize to you."

"Apologize?" Her voice lilted uncertainly again. 

He walked still closer to her, daring to look her in the eyes, confident she could no longer possess him that way. He stared at her until he was sure it was she who was aware of nothing else in the room. "Yes, for the part I have played in all of our misunderstandings. For leading you on, more than once. I was a callow youth when we met. From the start I should have told you exactly how things were between us. But I did not know my own feelings then."

"I know, Barnabas, I scarcely knew myself!" She reached out to touch his hand, as if she thought he needed comforting. "We discovered what love was together."

He pulled his hand away slowly. "No, Angelique. It took me two hundred years to discover what love was. Perhaps in some twisted sense I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

"You owe me no debt. I give everything I have to you, freely." Her eyes were huge, imploring him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Julia slip quietly into the room. As difficult as it was, he forced himself not to react or look at her directly. He couldn't give Angelique any reason to suspect they were not alone. 

He stared intensely at her again, willing that she not look away. "Angelique, if you really believe that, then I am asking you now to give me nothing more than my freedom." 

"What are you talking about?" She recoiled, withdrawing her hand from him. The way she whipped her head away he was terrified she would see Julia – but she did not.

"I only ask that you let me live my life as I choose it, with the woman I choose to love." 

He was not sure if this was the best strategy to keep her attention engaged; her rage was focused for the moment, but at any time she might start throwing him around the room again with whatever powers she had again. Come to think of it, he wondered, why hadn't she already done so? Before, she was so easily triggered. He thought, too late, that perhaps it would have been safer to distract her with a profession of love, but he could not have stomached it, certainly not with Julia in the room. 

"You love _me_ , Barnabas," she said, her voice cold and insistent. She stepped closer to him, now trying to stare him down. "I won't stop until you realize how much you love me."

"No, Angelique." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"You love me!" she screamed, never breaking eye contact with him. She saw that it was no longer working. "How are you resisting me? Love me!"

He affirmed quietly, "I do not love you, Angelique." 

Out of the corner of his eye again he was aware of Julia crouching down several feet away from them. It took a moment before Elliot's form became clear to him. He saw she would need another minute or two before she would be able to get through the strong knots. He would have to keep Angelique occupied – and then, perhaps, Julia and Elliot could ambush her from behind.

"You're mine!" Angelique screamed again. "It should have worked better with you, you belong to me..."

"Your spell didn't work," Barnabas said evenly. "It only put into sharp relief how very different my feelings for Julia are from my feelings for you, something I never quite understood before."

"Julia!" she laughed, throwing her head back, greatly amused. But gradually her attitude changed, her eyes flashing in rage and suspicion. She said it again, but this time it came out in a snarl: "Julia!"

Angelique whirled around to see Julia crouched over Stokes' body, still working at the ropes that tied his wrists. Julia stopped abruptly when she realized Angelique's eyes were on her, slipping something from Elliot's hand into her own fist. It was that time-travel device, Barnabas realized – and that meant the parallel Elliot Stokes must have returned to this time with Julia after all.

Angelique hissed, "Didn't I warn you, Julia, that if you came back you would regret it?"

"This is between you and me, Angelique," Barnabas said, grasping at Angelique's wrist to hold her back.

Angelique shook herself free easily and quickly crossed the space between her and Julia. "No. She keeps inserting herself between us. I tried to send her away without harming her. But now I think it's time I took her completely out of the picture." 

Angelique raised her hand, but she did not use a spell. She grabbed Julia's arm and dragged her to her feet, taking from her dressing table a knife, an ordinary knife and holding it against Julia's throat.

In the struggle, Julia managed to toss the golden orb she had taken from Elliot's hand to Barnabas. He caught it and lunged at Angelique, but by then she had a strong enough hold on Julia to pin her arms down, forcing her to walk several steps backward, the cool edge of the knife just touching her skin.

"Let her go, Angelique," Barnabas growled dangerously.

"Tell me you love me!" she screamed, forcing Julia's head back with the point of the knife.

"Angelique, try to look at this reasonably," he said, afraid now to move any closer. "Is this really how you want love? Coerced through witchcraft or force?"

"I only want the truth, and I want you to recognize it, too!"

"Let her go, and I will tell you the truth," Barnabas said, desperate.

"The truth is you are a coward and a fool," Angelique said, and slowly slid the knife away from Julia's throat. She kept the knife tight against Julia's body as she moved it across her chest and toward the hand Angelique held open, slicing a cut through from one end of her palm to the other – deep enough to draw out a stream of blood.

Julia kicked back at her legs, hard, and Angelique yelped in pain, the knife clattering to the floor several feet away. Angelique pushed Julia away to the ground angrily. Barnabas ran to Julia's side, yelling, "If you've hurt her I swear to god I'll kill you."

He crouched next to Julia, helping her back to her feet, examining the wound. It was deep, but not serious. He ripped off part of the sleeve of his shirt, helping her to bandage it. "I'm all right," Julia assured him. Then she realized with horror, looking at the ornament he still held in his hand, "We won't be able to go home–"

Angelique laughed again. "Go ahead and try to use that thing now. Do you know what will happen, since I've injured her? She'll die if you use it."

Barnabas raised one eyebrow, mocking her, as if he knew something she did not. "We don't need it to get home. In fact..." He raised the golden orb high above his head and threw it hard against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

"Barnabas, no–" Julia clutched at his arm, too late to stop him.

He covered her hand with his own as if to say, _*trust me.*_

Angelique withdrew the device she possessed from around her neck, and threw it against the same wall. It shattered just like the first. "Oh, my poor, brave Barnabas. What will you do now?"

"Now, I'm going to go home. There is another way." He took a few steps toward her, taunting her now; he had the upper hand. "I know it, and I think you know it too."

Angelique's lips twisted into a contorted smile, certain of herself. "Yes, I do know. I know what would have to happen. And I know that it will _never_ happen."

"Oh, I don't think that's so," he said, cocking his eyebrow in amusement again.

Not understanding his attitude, she continued to taunt him. "You'd laugh if you knew what it was. How simple, and how absurd."

"Would I, Angelique? Would I?" He did laugh, to think it seemed so absurd, impossible, to her. She was beyond reasoning with, beyond apologizing to, beyond all connection to reality. "There are just a few things you're going to do before we go."

"Oh?" she jeered at him, tilting her head.

"Untie Elliot now," he demanded.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't do what I ask I promise you I will kill you."

She crossed her arms defiantly. "You're powerless against me."

"That's a stupid bluff and you know it," he said angrily. 

Understanding his meaning, Julia challenged her, "Your powers are gone, aren't they? If you still had your powers, you wouldn't use a knife."

Angelique was about to issue a retort, but her mouth gaped open uselessly. Realizing she was caught, she laughed again defiantly. "Oh, very well done, Julia."

"Now untie him," Barnabas demanded again. "Let him go."

She picked up the knife and flashed it at them, still covered in Julia's blood, a crazed look in her eye. But when she knelt down before Elliot, she merely cut the ropes and did nothing else. Elliot clambered to his feet, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had cut into them.

Barnabas ordered, "Set down the knife."

She replaced it on her dressing table without argument.

"What happened to your powers?" Julia asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Angelique ignored her, standing in front of them both but speaking only to Barnabas. "It's not too late to tell me the truth, Barnabas. You'll save yourself as well as me. You don't know how much you will save us both. All you have to do is tell me you love me."

He replied coldly, "I don't love you, Angelique."

She cried, "When I died in your arms, you swore you loved me!"

"That wasn't you who died in my arms."

"I sacrificed her to prove that you belong to me!"

"You're insane," Barnabas said, and began to walk away.

Angelique threw herself at him, and when he pushed her away in disgust she collapsed at his feet. She wailed, with increasing incoherence, "Stay with me, we can go anywhere together, this time, our time, we can go back to Martinique, we can go back to the days when we were young and live out our lives together, or stay together forever, immortal – I'm offering you anything you want, Barnabas, so long as you open your eyes and see the only think you really _need_ is me!"

His voice was still cold, but softer now. There was no point in yelling at her any longer, she had made herself so pathetic. "You promise a lot you don't know how to make real. You're stuck here in this time now, aren't you?"

"Love me, and we'll find a way, I promise," she begged.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you," he said vehemently. "The life I am living now is my time. It is where I belong. I chose it, and I don't want to go back."

"Everything I ever did was for you, Barnabas," she wailed miserably. "Why can't you see how much I love you?"

"Yes, it was all for me. You'd destroy anything and anyone else to get to me. Do you really think that's love?"

Angelique lowered her head, crying into her hands. "You don't know what you're doing."

Julia shook her head pityingly, understanding why Angelique had been so single-mindedly focused on him this time. "All your power came from your hold over him, didn't it? The spells you cast on him, the deeper you were able to get into his brain, that's what fueled your power, isn't it? Now that he's broken your hold over him, your powers are gone."

Ignoring Julia again, Angelique moaned, "I staked everything on you, Barnabas."

"Whatever devil you made that deal with got the better end of it," Barnabas said, no compassion left for her. "You're trapped here, powerless, and you can't hurt us ever again."

"Oh, Barnabas, you have no idea. If you don't love me, it will mean your destruction, too," she said. It was a warning; she was beyond pleas or threats.

"That's empty talk," Barnabas snapped back.

"You'll find out, if you go," she said ominously.

Barnabas dismissed her, turning to Elliot. "Take the knife. Hold her until the other Julia and Barnabas get here. She can't do anything to any of us any longer. Since she's trapped here, and she's done as much to hurt you, the three of you can decide what to do with her."

Elliot picked up the knife and stood guard over Angelique, but he saw she did not have the will to fight any longer. He wondered, "How are they going to get back, now that the devices have been destroyed?" 

"Broken symmetry," Barnabas smirked back at him. "We owe you, in part, for this."

"Barnabas?" Julia questioned him, not understanding what he was getting at.

"Broken symmetry," he repeated, turning to her and smiling gently. "It wasn't just a moment, Julia. It's been happening ever since we came here, and we never realized it. The symmetry between our two times has been being restored all this time. Because when I realized how I felt, it didn't happen all in a moment. It took a long time. Too long, perhaps."

"Barnabas, what are you saying?" Her eyes searched his, still not certain he meant what she was hearing.

He closed what little distance there was between them, cupping her face in both of his hands, drawing her toward him. He said, as he lowered his head to kiss her, "I love you, Julia." And as his lips touched hers, the world around them went black.

 

\-------------------------

 

Julia and Barnabas were momentarily disoriented to find themselves suddenly seated, apart from one another. They looked around, confused, but quickly realized they were back at Wyndcliffe – back in their own time.

They each stood, Julia rounding her desk and Barnabas crossing the space on the floor to reach her, embracing and holding one another tightly again.

"Is that really all it took?" Barnabas laughed, his breath hot against her neck.

Julia laughed, too, elated despite her confusion. "I don't understand what happened!" 

He pulled back, "That was the break in time all along. Angelique was right about one thing: it was simple. But not absurd. And there was nothing she could do about it."

Behind them, Elliot Stokes cleared his throat. They had been oblivious to his presence until then. "I wonder if you would mind enlightening me? For the sake of academic curiosity."

"Oh, Elliot," Julia laughed, stepping away from Barnabas, happy to see him safe and sound but embarrassed to have a witness.

Barnabas colored slightly, embarrassed, too. He was searching for the simplest way of putting it for Elliot's sake. He wanted to get into the details with Julia alone. "Your theory of broken symmetry worked, and it was staring us right in the face the whole time. The difference between our time and theirs was only... In 1967, the other Barnabas told the other Julia that he loved her. That was all."

"And so you've just duplicated the event, restoring the symmetry between our time and theirs. Fascinating," Elliot said, standing. "Perhaps we were all looking for something on too grand a scale. True love conquers all, eh? Even time itself?"

"Perhaps so," Barnabas said, wishing Elliot would make himself scarce.

For once, Elliot seemed to take a hint. "Well, I've just had the pleasure of watching your counterparts work everything out for the past several hours. I don't think I need to sit through the same show twice."

"It's getting late, Elliot – I could have a room made up for you here if you'd like," Julia offered.

He waved the idea away graciously. "No, I drove separately; I think I'll go now. I miss my own bed after a night on Angelique's floor," he laughed. "But we should compare notes very soon. I want to hear the full story – less the details you will inevitably deem unfit for my ears."

Barnabas and Julia laughed nervously but said no more on the subject. They walked him to the door and wished him goodnight.

Now that they were alone, both Julia and Barnabas felt more awkward than before. Stalling for time, Barnabas asked, "Is your hand all right?"

"Oh, yes, the bleeding has stopped. I should put on a proper bandage – thank you for this, though," she talked quickly and nervously, looking down at the piece of his shirt wrapped around her hand.

"Of course." He reached down to take her injured hand in his, tracing the edges of the makeshift dressing idly with his thumb. "I suppose that will scar."

She looked up at him, her insides fluttering. "All in all, I don't think I'll resent the reminder of this night."

He smiled down at her, but it unnerved him completely, now that he was free to. He stalled again, asking, "Do you think Maggie will be all right now?"

"I suppose we'll find out tomorrow," she said gently, covering his hands with hers now as if trying to move him along. 

He took a deep breath: he could at least meet her halfway. He promised her, "Whatever happens, we'll face it together." 

He held her at arm's length, just as long as it took to see in her eyes that she truly believed it. Satisfied that she did, he took her in his arms again and held her close, finally secure in the knowledge that no matter what lay ahead for them, they would always face it together. And no one, and nothing, could tear them apart again.

 

THE END...

...AND TO BE CONTINUED?


	67. Epilogue

**_Parallel Time_ **

Julia and Barnabas were momentarily disoriented to find themselves suddenly locked in a kiss, but they did not immediately pull away. After a few moments, the strangeness of the situation overpowered their desire and they looked up, shocked to find Elliot standing with a knife to Angelique's throat.

"Angelique," Barnabas growled. 

"What should we do with her now?" Elliot asked. "Her powers are gone, but she's trapped in our time. They left it to us to decide."

Barnabas regarded her with undisguised scorn and loathing, but he said, "She can't hurt us any longer. We will let her go."

Julia nodded her agreement. "I only want this done and over with."

Slowly, half-expecting another trick, Elliot released his hold on Angelique and pocketed the knife. Without a word, not looking anyone in the eye, Angelique began to withdraw from the room.

"Wait just a moment," Barnabas called after her.

Angelique seemed merely exhausted, all the fight gone from her. "I've had my revenge on him. I have no quarrel with you. I will leave you alone."

"But we do have a quarrel with you!" Barnabas yelled angrily. "I want to hear you tell the truth about what you did to me."

"What do you want me to say?" She shrugged as if it couldn't possibly matter less.

"Did I ever touch you, even under your spell? Or did you just plant the memory in my mind to drive me and Julia apart?"

Rather than answer him, Angelique sneered, "In one band of time out of a _billion_ the two of you could actually love each other. I don't understand it. But I suppose I can permit it."

He had a dangerous look in his eye, as if daring her to push him one more time. "I do not ask for your permission. I am asking you for the truth."

"No, Barnabas," she said, rolling her eyes. "You never touched me. I disgusted you. The most I could ever do was make you think you had. It served my purposes just as well. You're not the one I want. Now let me go."

Julia said, "Yes, please go, but go knowing we're not one in a billion. I know 'your' Barnabas. He's every bit as devoted to his Julia."

"Perhaps he is," Angelique smiled wickedly, some of her usual spirit coming back to her face. "But they will never know happiness together. _Never._ "

Angelique turned and swept out of the room, her white gown billowing out behind her. Standing side by side, Julia and Barnabas watched her go. Their life was their own again, but they could only guess what trap Angelique had set for their counterparts in that other time, and pray their love would see them through it again.


End file.
